Daughter of the Elves
by SilverElvenEyes
Summary: Ellorme thought she had no future, taking her step-parent's abuse. But when she finds out she's not really human, that dwarves aren't so bad after all, and that elves really aren't as mysterious as she thought, this tale was born. see my reviews! :)
1. Chapter One: Lilly

DISCLAIMER: The only people I own are, Lilly/Ellorme, Lindan, Asfaol, and Elanna, the rest all belongs to the late J.R.R. Tolkien. Please R&R, this is my first elf/Middle-Earth story. I know it's not the best—but I need some feedback. Thank you!  
  
NOTE: this story takes place in the year 2913 of the Third Age.  
  
1  
  
  
  
Lilly looked up at the sound of a neigh, and wiped her eyes dry.  
  
Run, run! her mind shrilled. They're coming to get you! Run!  
  
She looked around frantically, then dove for the cover at the side of the road. She'd willingly brave the waters of Anduin with no boat rather than return to that cesspool of drunks called Bree.  
  
A tinkling sound filled her ears—so soft and light at first she thought she had imagined it. Then, as the sound grew louder and sweeter, she lifted her head cautiously to see who passed.  
  
A beautiful white horse came trotting around the bend, head high and tail streaming behind it. Lilly smiled to herself as she saw the vain arrogance in the creature's movements. He was a beauty—and he knew it!  
  
Slowly she stepped out from the cover of the woods, and timidly she held out her hand to the horse. The horse moved closer and then nuzzled her gently. She giggled and then tears sprang into her eyes again.  
  
"You must belong to someone," she said hesitantly. "I guess I'd better take you back."  
  
The horse huffed in her hair in response. She took his velvety nose in her hands and stroked the soft fur gently. His large brown eyes were kind, if a horse's eyes could look kind. Carefully she slid a hand down his neck and to his saddle.  
  
"Whoever owns you must be very rich," she informed him. "This bridal and saddle costs a fortune—oomph!" The horse nudged her hard with his nose. She stumbled to his side, where a silver stirrup was hanging down. She realized, after a glance at the bridal, that the reins were purely ornamental; they connected with a decorated halter, nothing more. No bit, no hackamore, no nothing.  
  
"Your rider must be very sure of himself—or herself," she muttered. She eyed the horse. He was tall, but not so tall she wouldn't be able to get on him with the help of the stirrups.  
  
"I'd take all night to walk this road," she told the horse, putting her foot in the stirrup. "I probably better ride you." She swung her leg over his back and slid comfortably into the saddle, adjusting her weight. The horse waited patiently for her to get settled. Then, only moments after her fingers were securely wound in his mare, he leapt forward. Wind whipped her eyes, but his pace was so light and smooth she easily kept her balance until her hair was pulled from her eyes. Breathless, she looked between his ears and balanced over his withers, so not to lean on his forelegs.  
  
It was the closest thing to flying she'd ever experienced. His hooves barely seemed to touch the ground, and his bells chimed in a wild song that was constantly changing. She breathed in the fresh air and closed her eyes, imagining she was aboard a smooth-sailing ship, traveling far away from her cares.  
  
* * * *  
  
She opened her eyes carefully the next morning. There was the white horse, chomping grass beside her. Somehow he'd managed to get her off her saddle without waking her. The very thought made her shiver. She had the feeling this horse was not what he appeared to be.  
  
Everything went fine until later that day, when it began to hail. Having little to protect herself from the elements, she soon was freezing and shivering violently, even with the warmth of the horse. They did not traval far that day.  
  
Never having strayed from home before she had no idea how to start a fire, no idea how to hunt for herself. Before long she was thoroughly miserable; cold, wet, hungry, and sick. She coughed hoarsely long into the night as she rode the horse through the rain. Soon she was so cold she'd lost all feeling in her body. Her vision darkened, and she slumped forward…  
  
Suddenly, the horse stopped. She slammed against his warm mane and lay there, too weak to push herself off. The horse threw back his head, hitting her nose. She yelped weakly and turned her head to the side. Suddenly, the horse whinnied loudly, once, twice, three times, then fell silent. Somewhere in the distance of her mind, she heard singing, faint and far away, but steadily coming closer. After a moment, a slim figure came in sight and she heard a voice, too sweet and lilting to be a mortal's.  
  
"Ahh, there you are! You naughty horse, you had me searching half the countryside…aha, snagged one of the locals I see…no? What's this?" A note of concern entered the lilting voice, which, though was the most beautiful she'd ever heard, was distinctly masculine. "Are you hurt, little one?" she was too weak to respond. She dragged her tongue over lips cracked and bleeding and closed her eyes. Suddenly, something tugged on her firmly. She felt herself falling, but made no move to steady herself. Warm arms encircled her, and a face, angelic and kind appeared before her. She coughed heavily.  
  
"Poor thing, traveling in this weather. And in rags, too! What's your name, little one?"  
  
She struggled to respond, but she could hardly take a breath without coughing. "Come here, Asfaol." The horse obediently came closer. "Lie down next to her while I start a fire." The horse slowly dropped to his knees then dropped his rump. The spirit lay her next to his horse and covered her warmly with his own cloak, smoothing her brow with a gentle hand.  
  
"You'll be all right," he murmured. "Let me get something for your cough." He disappeared into the forest, silent as a shadow. She curled up against the horse and closed her eyes too tired and sick to think.  
  
"Dehydrated, too, I see." The voice startled her out of an uneasy sleep. Something lifted her to an upright positioned and held a cup against her lips.  
  
"Drink," he ordered. She drank in the cool liquid, which soothed her sore throat and cough. He made her drink three more cups of water, and then another cup every time she woke up. He kept her near a fire that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere and didn't seem to require any wood. He'd rubbed balm on her cracked lips and a cool, damp cloth kept her fever at bay.  
  
After a fitful night, she woke to a bright morning, with no clouds in sight. She blinked in the sunlight, then looked around. The horse was eating grass near to her. His bridal and saddle had been removed, and he was gleaming in the sunshine.  
  
"You look much better," came a voice to her right. She snapped her head in that direction eyes wide and startled.  
  
The beautiful man who had saved her was regarding her a few feet away, sitting underneath a tree, cross-legged.  
  
"Have I died?" she asked sleepily. "Is this the beyond?"  
  
To her surprise, the man laughed and stood. "No, little one. This is far beyond your home, if that's what you mean. But you are alive and well, thanks to the abundant herbs that grow near here, and my horse's common sense, if kidnapping a local girl could be called that." He sent an ironic look over at his horse, whom looked innocent as a sunflower, and snorted.  
  
He moved to her side and felt her forehead. "No fever—good, and you're not coughing." He smiled at her.  
  
"Who—who—"  
  
"Who am I? His smile widened. "To my horse, I'm an inconvenience, but to my peers I'm called Lindan."  
  
"You—you—you're an elf!" she gasped.  
  
He laughed again; throwing his head back, and letting his thick mane of ebony locks fall over his shoulders in wavy ripples. His laugh was a clear, tinkling sound, like rain falling on a woodland stream. "Very good!" he said. "I did not think you'd recognize me for what I am. Yes, I am an elf. And you are very far from home, and still a little sick. Would you prefer I leave you here and let you make your own way back, or would you like to come to Rivendell with me, and go back after winter ends?"  
  
She stared at him, disbelieving. He would take her with him? To Rivendell, the fabled home of the Elves? No more beatings from father, no more slaps from mother…and why should she go back? They were not her parents! They were not even her parents' kin! They were not her kin! What did she owe them? At Rivendell, maybe she could get a job as a stable hand for a little room and a meal.  
  
"Could I come with you?" she asked breathlessly, tumbling out of bed. "Please?" Her eyes were wide and pleading. He smiled, but the expression was puzzled.  
  
"Are you so wanting to leave you family?"  
  
"They're no family of mine," she replied shortly. He nodded slowly.  
  
"Of course you may come," he said kindly. "I offered it, did I not?" he settled back onto the grass, a contented expression on his face. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"  
  
She nodded twice. He brought her a piece of white bread, still soft, with a little butter and some dried meat, and a cup of a sweet, cool drink she vaguely remembered having the night before.  
  
She felt much better after eating the food. Before they mounted up she scurried off into the bushes to answer nature's calling. He was already in the saddle when she returned. She swung up behind him and wrapped her arms around him as they broke into a gentle, ground-eating canter. She looked over her, back towards the only home she'd ever known, and felt a moment's doubt. Then her expression hardened, and she looked forward again. A new life awaited her. One where she could actually learn something, actually be someone. She tilted her head back and looked up at the bright blue sky.  
  
And I will be someone, she told herself firmly. I have the talent; I have just found the courage, and somewhere I have the patience. No matter what they say, I can do this, I can. And this time, I won't let anyone stop me!  
  
* * * *  
  
It wasn't until later that evening she realized she'd forgotten to mention what her name was. Blushing furiously, she approached Lindan. "Um, sir?"  
  
He looked up from where he was stirring a pot of their night's favor and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Um, I think I forgot to tell you my name."  
  
He smiled when she hesitated. "By all means, oblige me."  
  
She blushed again and toed the ground. "My name is Lilly."  
  
"Well, Lilly, it is very nice to meet you." There was an unending amount of amusement in his eyes. She couldn't help it. One look at him started her laughing. His expression was one of amused composure. He soon joined her in laughter.  
  
Their dinner was pleasant, for Lindan did not mind at all answering some of the questions she'd always wanted to ask, and didn't scold her for talking too much. He listened in amusement and surprise at all the legends about elves her people had made, and gently corrected her from time to time. There was none of the harshness, none of the short-tempered and sadistic remarks that she had come to expect from adults.  
  
"How far are we from Rivendell?" she asked after swallowing a mouthful of the soup. It was the best she'd ever tasted; though Lindan seemed embarrassed about the quality.  
  
"We should reach it tonight," he responded, and paused to chew a particularly stubborn piece of meat. When he'd finished, he added, "You may as well ride in front of me, so I can catch you if you fall asleep; I don't want to stop tonight."  
  
She nodded, and carefully mounted onto Asfaol. Lindan swung up behind her and settled his arms around her. It was already dusk, and Lilly was tired. After about half an hour of trying to sit upright, she finally gave up into weariness and leaned back against him.  
  
"Go ahead and sleep," he said in her ear. "Asfaol and I won't let you fall." She never had a chance to respond; sleep was already pulling at her.  
  
She breathed deeply in the sweet smell of horse and clean leather. His arms encircled her waist gently, keeping her leaning back against him. She turned her head once or twice, but settled down quickly, and it was not long before she was deep within the arms of sleep, curled up against Lindan's warm, comforting presence.  
  
When Lindan had listened to her slow, quiet breathing for sometime, he murmured to his horse, and Asfaol stopped, then said softly into the darkness, "Greetings, old friend."  
  
A shadow appeared at his side, moving silently towards the elf.  
  
"What little mischief do you carry now?" the voice asked in response, but there was no malice in his tone, only calmness that Lindan felt as a presence around him.  
  
"You tell me, my friend; you wander these roads more than I."  
  
The shadow moved closer and gazed into the sleeping face of Lilly. "Probably a Bree-child, from her accent. She doesn't look that, though, does she?"  
  
"No," the elf agreed softly. "She looks like the men of Rohan."  
  
"Aye," the man agreed, stepping back. There was a curious expression in his dark eyes. "Take good care of her, Lindan."  
  
"I intend to. Any messages, or was this just a friendly hello?"  
  
"The later, and a question; have you seen any athelas?"  
  
"Back about a day's walk, why?"  
  
"I have a feeling I may be needing some, soon. I have a wound that will not heal."  
  
Concern knitted the elf's face, and he reached into his pouch. "These are not very fresh, but they should do. Should I send someone to find you?"  
  
"Nay, I'll be alright," the Ranger replied, taking the leaves. "Fair weather and fresh rain, my friend."  
  
"And you, Ranger. Good luck." And so the two parted company.  
  
* * * *  
  
Lilly jerked upright suddenly as Asfaol stopped, and stared about in amazement as she realized Lindan had brought them into Rivendell without her waking once. She stared as Lindan slid off his horse and offered her a hand.  
  
"Home sweet home," he sighed, looking about. "What a beautiful night!"  
  
"Who's that singing?" she asked, listening to the sounds of voices and waterfalls in the distance.  
  
"Why, that's the elves who live here," he replied. "Mae govannen*!" he called to the elf that was approaching them. The elf returned the greeting, and then took Asfaol. "Come on, I'll get you set up in a room before I go give Master Elrond my respects." He paused, realizing she hadn't heard a thing he'd said. She was staring up at the stars, her lips parted in a gesture of complete shock. A slow smile spread across his face. When she looked back at him, there were tears shinning in her eyes.  
  
"It just occurred to me," she said in a thick voice, "that I'm really free."  
  
"Come on then, my little one," the elf replied kindly. "Lets show you around your new home."  
  
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?  
  
2 *Mae govannen = well met 


	2. Chapter Two: Rivendell

1.1 DISCLAIMER: again, I own no one but Lilly/Ellorme, Lindan, Asfaol, and Elanna, the rest all belongs to the late J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
1.2  
  
"Welcome back, Lindan." Master Elrond greeted him with a smile and a glass of red wine. "I take it all went well?"  
  
"Quite." He took a sip and sighed. "Ah, you know, I love Thranduil's wine but it packs a punch the morning after, no matter how much you eat. It's nice to have something not so—to put it delicately—heady. And it's sweeter, too." Elrond's expression was a mixture of amusement and friendly exasperation. "However, I detect from the slight narrowing of your eyebrows that you have had enough conversations on your wine and would like me to report."  
  
"Quite," Elrond replied wryly.  
  
"It's bad," the elf said bluntly. "You can barely reach Thranduil at all without going through a clutch of Mirkwood-Spiders or deviating dangerously far south or north from the path. My horse refused to go into it—I sent her to Beorn with instructions that I'd pay him back later for her food and board. I hardly made it through without disturbing whatever is living there. It's bad, Lord Elrond, it's terribly bad. The Elves are beset on all sides. The woods reek of evil. There is something there that is centered down south, but it is spreading ever northwards and westwards. Elrond, they are coming. We must do something now before it is too late to do anything."  
  
Elrond's face was troubled. "We must call a Council, then."  
  
"As soon as you can."  
  
"I take it you believe Dol Guldur is inhabited again."  
  
"Without any doubt," the elf replied bitterly, and drained his remaining wine in one gulp. "I pity the elves who live there, and I do not envy them at all. Elrond, Mirkwood covers almost all of the passes over the Misty Mountains—should Thranduil's realm fall, not only would the elves loose yet another sanctuary, but it would severely weaken our ties to Gondor and Rohan, and beset us with many more terrible problems."  
  
Elrond sighed and poured more wine for both of them. "I will call a Council, then, if it has not already been called. Thank you, Lindan. You will find food and drink in your quarters."  
  
Lindan bowed deeply. "Your hospitality is unending, Lord Elrond. I thank you."  
  
"It is I who thank you, Lindan. Not many even of the Nolder who remain would venture as far as you have into places of darkness."  
  
"Not many are as foolish as I," the elf replied dryly. "But I thank you for the compliment."  
  
"One more thing," Elrond said as Lindan turned to go. "What of this human child you brought here to Rivendell?"  
  
"Ah, yes, the matter of Lilly," Lindan murmured, turning back to face Elrond. "From what I gather, her parents died or disappeared when she was young, and she was raised by some town-folk. She hated her life there—almost begged to go with me, after my horse horse-napped her. Could you find work for her in the stables, perhaps? If my horse likes her, I'm sure the rest will. And she needs time, Elrond. I believe she must heal from something that happened to her, something she will neither reveal in her face nor her questions."  
  
Elrond's lips twitched in wry amusement. "Very well. I daresay, we'll be raising every human in Middle-Earth before long."  
  
"Yes, sir," Lindan replied straight-faced. "We'll be the best nursery this side of the Sea."  
  
Elrond chuckled. "Good night, Lindan."  
  
"Namarie*, Lord Elrond," the elf replied softly, and slipped from the room.  
  
Elrond sat long in thought many lingering hours after his wine had become stale and tepid. At long last he put the glass down and went out under the stars, hoping to find some answers in the deepening night.  
  
* * * *  
  
Lilly woke suddenly and warily, looking about for possible blows to avoid. Then she blinked and a grin broke out on her face. So it wasn't a dream! Here she was, in the fanciest room she'd ever been in, sleeping on a featherbed, being served exotic foods in one of the last sanctuaries of the Elves. Being dressed in the finest cotton money could buy. She squeaked and threw herself back onto the covers.  
  
She had a feeling that this—and the note under the door telling her to come to the stables as soon as she was fed and dressed—had something to do with Lindan being high ranking among the elves. Though in her short time among them, she'd sensed no real upper and lower class—rather, a few chosen leaders, and everyone beneath them equals—Lindan seemed to be a more important figure than some elves. It sounded like a wonderful set up.  
  
She gobbled the left out breakfast and threw herself into her old clothes—which had been washed and mended while she slept. Then she carefully backtracked out the door she'd come in the night before. (Note to reader: no rhyme intended.) She ended up circling the buildings twice before working up the courage to ask one of the elves where the stable was. He was a tall, golden-haired elf with a melodious voice that almost put her back to sleep on her feet.  
  
He introduced himself as Glorfindel, and sent her back the way she came, around one of the buildings she'd missed, and back towards where she realized the main entrance had to be. So it was she turned up panting, sweaty and disheveled at the doorway of the biggest stable she'd ever seen.  
  
She was still gaping open-mouthed when a tall, dark haired and eyed elf appeared almost out of thin air by the doorway, dressed in a shirt, tunic and breeches, unlike the half-dresses half-robes clothing Lilly had seen most of the elves wearing.  
  
"Lilly?" the elf asked, and Lilly was amazed to see it was a woman who was standing there. She nodded, speechless. "My name is Elanna, and I'll be teaching you how to care for these beasts and those brought in by visitors. If you have any questions, ask me."  
  
Lilly trotted over and Elanna led her inside. "I see you have some horse- sense if you dressed in your old clothes," Elanna commented. "Have you worked with horses before?"  
  
"I worked at the stable in Bree."  
  
"Good, very good—but you must understand that most of these horses here are elven horses. They are not like your mortal horses. They are swift, fast, and very dangerous if they don't have their master's or mistress's consent to be handled. Some of them are war-horses, even more dangerous, for such people as Master Elrond's sons, Elrohir and Elladan. Your duties include feeding them, making sure they have fresh bedding and water, and exercising those that I deem to suit your riding styles." Realizing Lilly had stopped dead in her tracks, Elanna stopped as well and raised an eyebrow, smiling reassuringly.  
  
"I—I—" Lilly took a deep breath. "I can't ride very well—just on Lindan's horse."  
  
"That's to be expected—and don't worry, I can teach you," the elf replied calmly. "It's better this way—you won't have bad habits to unlearn. Oh, and another thing. All the elven horses are trained without bit, whip, or spur. They respond only to leg commands, voice commands, and hand signals from the ground…"  
  
And so the first day of Lilly's stay at Rivendell began.  
  
* * * *  
  
Lilly threw herself down upon her bed and buried her face in her pillow. She was utterly exhausted, too tired to eat, even. Certain she was alone she lifted her head, then squawked in shock at the sight of Lindan sitting on a chair, delicately nibbling on a piece of buttered bread.  
  
"Ah, good, you're not asleep," Lindan said conversationally. "Care to join me for dinner?"  
  
"I'm not very clean, sir," Lilly gasped, prying her heart out of her throat.  
  
"Nonsense, you look beautiful," he answered, waving away her protests. "Come, come, tell me how your first day went. Elanna behave herself?"  
  
"Yessir."  
  
"Don't call me 'sir', Lilly—just call me Lindan. Elves aren't particular over rank." He chuckled into his wineglass. "We practically have none, compared to humans."  
  
Gingerly she sat down across from him and picked up a knife and fork, trying to copy what he did. A few bites into the meal he noticed what she was trying to do and smiled. "You needn't try to copy me, child. I've only just come from the simpering bureaucracy of a feast, so my eating skills will be unintelligible for the next few hours. Have to live up to elven reputation, you know."  
  
"Then—you're not hungry? I thought elves didn't have rank." Lilly was thoroughly confused.  
  
"I'm always hungry," he replied simply. "And we don't—I accidentally got stuck between two maidens going to a wedding, so I was on my best manners. Two human maidens," he added in a hurt tone. "I hate to insult your race, Lilly, but I hope to gods you never become as disgusting as that. Off the record, of course."  
  
Instantly at ease, Lilly giggled. "I hope I don't either—Lindan," she added with a grin. He grinned back, then poured her some more grape juice for her. "So, tell me your day. I want to here everything—and don't worry," he added, holding up a long, pale hand. "I won't repeat it. Elf's honor."  
  
She giggled again, tired enough to be on the edge of hysteria, and agreed. She perked up after having some food and juice, enough to tell him everything before she was covering yawns while she talked. At last he waved her silent. "That's enough, youngling, you're about to fall over. Why don't you go take a hot bath and relax? I've got something for you in there. Good night," he added, hiding a grin as she stared at him open-mouthed.  
  
He was almost out the door before he heard her voice again. "Lindan?" He turned. "Why are you doing this for me? You're being so nice and all…and I barely know you."  
  
He smiled slightly. "You know what they say, Lilly—sweeter is the praise that comes from unexpected places, and kinder are the words that come from a stranger's mouth. Sleep well." And he was gone before she could think of anything to say.  
  
Shaking her head, she stood up and walked into the little room hid by a curtain that held the privy and to her astonishment, a bathtub. She'd been too tired to notice it before. And now wisps of steam were coming off it. Soap, towels and a large box were laid out for her. She opened the box quickly, not wanting the water to cool. Inside she found a beautiful nightgown obviously of elvish-making with matching slippers and robe. Tears came into her eyes and splashed down onto the silk. Then she stripped and put everything dirty in a pile before sliding into the hot water with a sigh of contentment. She began to scrub ruthlessly, while the water was still hot. She washed every square inch of skin and hair. Then she soaked for a good hour before the water became too cool for comfort. She stood, toweled off and dressed in the nightgown, slippers and robe. They were wonderfully warm. She found a little cap in the pocket of the robe and put it over her head, stuffing her hair inside. Soon her head was no longer cold from the wetness from her hair, and she knelt to start a fire. Once she had one roaring she piled it with wood so it would burn a long time, then settled down between the sheets.  
  
"May all the Powers above bless the elves," she murmured as she fell asleep. "And especially Lindan…"  
  
* * * *  
  
With a grimace, Lilly shook sweat out of her eyes. It was a blazing hot day, and the fact that the horses all were drinking enough water to fill twenty bathtubs was keeping her busy. It could be worse, she reminded herself. I could be in the loft. That drew a shudder from her. Being in the loft on a hot day was bad enough—having pieces of straw and dust stick to her like glue was worse.  
  
Suddenly, there was a loud whinny, a splintering crash and the sound of more whinnies, frantic and further off. Lilly dropped the buckets she was carrying and bolted to the door. Three of the horses had somehow found the energy to break out of their stalls and were running freely over the small bridge and into the forest on the other side. Lilly swore under her breath, grabbed three of the bitless bridals and took off after them. Nothing could run long in this heat.  
  
She found them dripping with sweat, flanks heaving about three miles from Rivendell. It took her almost an hour to catch the first one, a lead mare. Soon, with a lot of coaxing and cooing, she got the horse back onto a path, and managed to scramble up behind her. Hoping she was right about this mare being the lead one, she took the horse back at a gentle walk. Sure enough, there was the sound of dismayed whinnies, and the other two horses, a gelding and a young colt, came running up after the mare. Smiling to herself, she kept the horses at a walk, not wanting them to overheat; though the sun had finally begun to set.  
  
Suddenly, the colt shied and screamed as horsefly latched onto him, ramming into the gelding, who kicked him, missed, and connected—hard—with the mare's flank. Lilly grabbed the mane and hung on for dear life as the mare broke completely out of control and bolted.  
  
Branches slapped her face and arms mercilessly as the mare galloped out of control down the pathway at breakneck speed. Lilly tried everything, from pulling on the reins to talking to the mare in elvish. The horse ignored her and continued at her breakneck pace, as Lilly rode along, terrified.  
  
By the time she ran herself out, Lilly was exhausted from hauling on the reins and holding onto her mane. She slid off the horse to find the gelding and colt coming running up.  
  
"You idiot," she said disgustingly to the colt, who snorted in her hair. "You bumble-headed idiot. I bet it was your idea, wasn't it, to break out of the paddock? Well, no matter. Here we are, miles from civilization, with me, no food, three horses and—by and by, some luck at last!—a stream." She led the horses one by one to the stream to let them drink, tying the others to a tree branch. "I suppose I could try grass," she grumbled. "Probably the most appetizing thing I'll be eating tonight."  
  
There was almost no light left by now. Lilly hurried to find some kindling and, with the help of practice and a few well-struck rocks managed to start a fire. She tied the horses loosely, close to the stream, and watched drowsily while they nibbled at the grass. She curled up by the fire, closed her eyes, and waited for morning.  
  
She woke when a hand shook her roughly and hauled her to her feet. Gasping, she tried to twist around to see her attacker. The firelight had barely died—she must have only slept a half-hour. Her attacker was tall and lean, with eyes dark as night, and a weatherworn face. He was handsome in a roughish kind of way. A sword hung on his left hip, a dagger on his right, and a bow and quiver full of arrows on his back. She gulped.  
  
"What are you doing here with these horses?" he demanded. "Why are you out here alone?"  
  
"Please—sir—I was tending the horses when three of them broke out this afternoon," Lilly replied fearfully. "I—I went after them—maybe I shouldn't have—"  
  
"You're babbling, girl. Why didn't you go back to Rivendell?"  
  
"I didn't know the way."  
  
He peered in her face for a moment, then sighed. "You're the girl Lindan brought in?"  
  
"Yessir."  
  
His lips twitched the same way Lindan's had a habit of doing. "I'm not 'sir'. My name is Arathorn."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"We should get you back—the wild is no place for the unarmed, not even in Rivendell." And before she could protest, he picked her up and slung her over the mare's back. He mounted up behind her and clucked the mare forward. The other two horses were tied together, and the gelding was tied to the mare like a pack train.  
  
Lilly could only remember a vague fear, even though Arathorn seemed to have excepted her story. She sat rigidly and waited for a blow to come from behind. None came.  
  
They were received warmly at Rivendell. The owners of the three horses were glad to receive them, none the worse for the ware but for some weariness. Lilly slid off the mare and managed to get out of the crowd before anyone noticed. When she got back to her room it was nearly three in the morning. She undressed, pulled on whatever touched her hand and fell asleep before her head touched the pillow.  
  
She woke up the next morning to the sound of birds singing outside and a note under her door: Master Elrond wants to talk to you. Behave, speak politely, and don't lie—even a baby elf can see through human deception.  
  
She dressed and found a messenger waiting outside the door. She followed him to the other end of the house, and into a very large suite where an elf that looked middle-aged to Lilly's human-trained eyes stood waiting for them. His hair was dark as the velvet sky with no trace of gray or white yet. His eyes were clear and kind and reassuring like an older version of Lindan.  
  
"Greetings, Lilly," he said quietly when the messenger was gone. "I want to talk to you about something."  
  
"Yessir."  
  
He smiled. "I see Lindan cannot yet break you of that habit. I do not bite and I rarely bark, little one. Take a seat, and if you must address me call me 'Elrond' or 'Master Elrond'."  
  
"Yes, Master Elrond."  
  
Elrond sat opposite from her and gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Lilly, you've been here for four months, and I wanted to know—do you want to go back? To your home?"  
  
"I—" Lilly stopped, then shook her head. "No, s—Master Elrond. If I can stay, I would like to. I have no home back in Bree."  
  
"I see." The elf clasped his hands in his laps and smiled reassuringly. "I'm not going to kick you out on your ear, youngling, don't worry. But all of our permanent residences here usually have a job to do. To prevent favoritism, I'd have to give you one, too. Any preferences?"  
  
"The stable?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"I wish I could, but Elanna is quite capable of doing the job alone, and it's well known she hasn't had an assistant for years. It would have to be something else."  
  
"I'm a pretty good cook," she said softly.  
  
"The men mostly do the cooking, I'm afraid," he replied kindly. "Is there anything else you might be able to try?"  
  
"Singing," she said slowly. "Everyone said I could sing very well, back in Bree." He noticed she didn't say "back home."  
  
"Well, then." Elrond stood and smiled. "Welcome to the world of the minstrels, Lilly of Rivendell."  
  
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?  
  
*Namarie = farewell 


	3. Chapter Three: Homecoming

DISCLAIMER: OK, I only own Lilly/Ellorme, Lindan, Asfaol, and Elanna, the rest all belongs to the late J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
Lindan stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Elrond. He had known when he'd been summoned that something was wrong; from the expression on Elrond's face, bad had gone to worse.  
  
"What is it?" Lindan demanded. "What has happened?"  
  
"Calm yourself, Lindan," Elrond replied smoothing his features to a welcoming smile. "It has nothing to do with the Darkness. This has to do with Lilly."  
  
Lindan stood instead of sitting, looking the most fearful and fretful Elrond had seen him in centuries. "Yes, Master Elrond?"  
  
"I believe I know why she does so well with the horses." Elrond's voice was quiet. "I believe I know why she is so at ease with us."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Lindan, think! How many humans from Bree would understand our ways—would respect them? How man would trust us? How many would like—and in your case—love us? Not one, not any of them. Even some of the Rangers hold us at arm length. Yet she's embraced our culture with ease, embraced you and Elanna as a friend. Think, Lindan! Why could that be? You know of what I speak."  
  
Lindan opened his mouth to respond before a blood-curdling shriek split the air. Without a word, both elves spun and ran to the window. Below, Lilly fought with a stallion while the horse's rider, a young man who obviously knew nothing about horses, hung on for dear life.  
  
One of the horse's flaying hooves struck Lilly's head.  
  
In all his years, Elrond had never seen Lindan move so fast. Before Elrond had even turned Lindan was out the door and down the hallway. He made it to Lilly even before Elanna had. Elanna seized the rearing horse and spoke sharply in elvish. The horse stilled instantly. Lindan touched Lilly's face; she was pale and cold to the touch, unconscious. A thin trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her mouth.  
  
Elrond met up with Lindan halfway down the hall. Lindan almost threw him at Lilly, then hovered nervously behind him, looking for all the world like a parent with a wounded child. Deftly, Elrond searched her for signs of concussion; luckily she had none. It had been a glancing blow—painful, but not very dangerous. Part of the scalp on the crown of her head had been torn away, but salves and bandages would soon fix that.  
  
"She'll be fine, Lindan," Elrond said after a moment. "Nothing more than a nasty scrap."  
  
Lindan looked faint with relief. "Such fuss over a human child?" Glorfindel murmured in Elrond's ear as Elrond lifted the child. "What has come over him?"  
  
"I do not want to know," the elf-lord replied, a little dryly. He gave Lilly to Elanna. "Elanna, get her into fresh clothes and put her to bed. Lindan, I trust you can bandage that wound?"  
  
Lindan, white as paper, nodded, and tagged along behind Elanna nervously. "He's turned into a parent," Elrond sighed.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Master Elrond."  
  
Elrond looked up into the eyes of Elanna. He'd waited outside while Elanna got Lilly into fresh clothes before dressing her wound, since Lindan had been called away for something else.  
  
"There's something you should see," she said quietly before he could speak.  
  
He followed her inside to where Lilly lay on her stomach; her head turned to one side. The shirt she wore buttoned down in the back. The top six buttons were left undone; when Elrond saw her back he breathed in sharply. Her back was covered with half-healed welts and white scars showing where she'd been whipped cruelly. He perched on the bed next to her; the scar tissue was thick and healing slowly as though the wounds had become infected. Elanna stood unmoving, twin coals of anger burning in her eyes.  
  
"They beat her," Elanna muttered. "Elrond, this is not the only scars, either. I found burn marks on her—burns that looked to be old and ill healed. Burn marks that look like unimaginative torture."  
  
The hair stood up on the back of Elrond's neck; no matter how many times he'd seen it, child-torture remained among the worst deeds he'd ever seen done by other creatures of Middle-Earth.  
  
"No wonder she didn't want to go back," he whispered. Lilly moaned and stirred. Elrond lay a hand on her thick curls and she quieted. "Elanna, help me tend her scalp—I can do little for these scars." Elanna nodded, buttoned the shirt, and gently rolled Lilly over.  
  
Elrond dressed and bandaged the wound and left orders for Lilly's treatment. Then he went back into his study, blew out the candles and sat deep in though for the rest of the night.  
  
* * * *  
  
A few weeks later Lilly was back working with the horses—hauling hey and water, cleaning out stalls, and exercising them. A thin band of cloth around her head was the only sign of the injury she'd received—and Elanna was extra careful now to keep her from getting near any of the more violent horses sometimes stabled.  
  
Elanna was working silently, weeding one of the pastures when she heard hooves pounding on the ground. Looking up she saw riders coming down off the hill. She stood and brushed off her hands before vaulting over the fence.  
  
Then she saw Lilly, standing with a bucket of grain in her hands, face drained of color and body shaking.  
  
"Lilly!" she shouted, but Lilly wasn't listening. She was staring at the foremost rider with a look of utter terror on her face. Just as she dropped the bucket and ran the rider saw her.  
  
"LILLY!" Elanna screamed, and raced for the girl.  
  
The rider pounded up behind Lilly, quickly overtaking her. Lilly dodged him, but the rider was circling her like cattle, driving her towards the other riders. Elanna stopped and shrieked something in elvish at the top of her lungs.  
  
There was a crash and Asfaol came pounding out of the stable, reins whipping. Lindan ran out after him. Asfaol squealed and lashed out with his hooves, connecting solidly with the other horse's neck. The horse screamed and jerked away as Lindan reached the foray. Lilly again dodged the rider's grasp and instead leaped forward and whispered something in his horse's ear. The horse bucked suddenly, then reared. The rider went flying and the horse bolted for the stable, Asfaol snapping at his heals. Lindan turned and found the human lunging at him. He sidestepped him, but Lilly wasn't quick enough and was slammed to the ground beneath the human. Lindan hauled the man up and slammed his fist into his chin. The man slumped senseless to the ground.  
  
"You okay?" he asked Lilly, pulling her up. She nodded; looking pale but not so scared anymore.  
  
"Is he—?"  
  
"He's alive," Lindan replied grimly, then pulled her aside. "Those were some of the men from Bree, weren't they? One of them you called father?"  
  
She gulped, then her eyes hardened. "I have no father."  
  
* * * *  
  
Lindir moved swiftly and silently along the hall, mentally kicking himself for being late to Lilly's first music lesson. He'd never met the girl, but still—he wanted to appear friendly, not rude. Muttering about council meetings and the days being too short to get anything done anymore, he turned the corner and froze.  
  
To his sharp ears, the sounds were unmistakable, though anyone less than a ranger would have heard nothing. It sounded like a lute being played—a very simple, repetitive song, but very beautiful as well. Before settling in Rivendell, Lindir had combed most of the wide world, and knew almost every traditional song from every corner of Middle-Earth.  
  
This was not one of them  
  
He moved forward again, then carefully peered around the corner to see a young girl sitting on the couch, eyes half-closed as though in a trance. Her fingers carefully plucked the strings, and before his amazed eyes the song became more complex, though the mournful tone of the song never changed. Had he been human, his jaw would have dropped. As he was elven, he settled for merely widening his eyes. For from what he'd heard of Lilly, she was a kind but completely untrained human girl. She was sounding like a minstrel of three years on an instrument known to be difficult.  
  
Lindir fairly trampled Arathorn in his effort to get to Elrond in time. The Ranger stepped aside, but not without a raised eyebrow. Elves seldom allowed their emotions to get the better of them.  
  
But then, everyone knew minstrels were odd.  
  
Elrond looked up as Lindir came crashing through the door, knocking aside the two elves that stood guard outside. "Master Elrond!" he cried.  
  
"Greetings, Lindir," Elrond replied sarcastically. Saruman frowned slightly and Gandalf stood up in surprise. "What can I do for you? Obviously you have interrupted nothing."  
  
Lindir was uncommonly dense today. "You've got to see this!" He literally hauled Elrond out of the chair and propelled him towards the door. "You'll never believe this!"  
  
"Lindir," Elrond snapped, trying to turn, "I am in the middle of a Council meeting—"  
  
"Master Elrond," Lindir replied indignantly, drawing himself up to his full height, "I would have thought better of you. You're missing minstrel history!"  
  
"I'm sure you'll write a ballad about it, Lindir. I'll have you sing it later."  
  
"But you have to see this! It's a miracle! A godsend! My first human genius student!"  
  
Arwen saved Lindir a lot of trouble that day, though he was not completely aware of the fact. "Father, do you know there is a human playing your lute in the common room?" she asked softly, sticking her head in. "She sounds beautiful—she's even beginning to sing."  
  
That settled it. Lindir quite literally dragged Elrond reluctantly down the hall at a pace Arwen had never seen him match before. Lindir all but threw the elf-lord around the corner. Elrond was about to snap at him again when he heard the music and, like Lindir, froze to listen.  
  
1 What chains lay behind me  
  
Are the chains set before me  
  
When darkness arises  
  
When the dark tide…  
  
Where are those people  
  
Who're lost long ago  
  
The ones who were swept away  
  
When the dark tide…  
  
What lay in front of me  
  
Is the enemy I defeated  
  
And what lay behind me  
  
Is the dark tide of…despair  
  
The music rolled off into another soft chord then went silent. Elrond held still as though dazed.  
  
"I told you so," the minstrel couldn't help but say.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I wish you could've seen their faces!" Lilly chortled. "Lindir looked like he was about to hug me."  
  
"That's Lindir for you," Lindan chuckled. "Always the enthusiastic one. You know, I knew when I first lay eyes on you, you'd be a great singer."  
  
"You did?" she asked, delighted.  
  
"No," he admitted truthfully. "But I like to think I thought I did." She laughed.  
  
* * * *  
  
If he says we're almost there one more time, Elladan though fiercely. I'm going to knock him and that self-assured smile right off his horse. Elbereth prevent! He knows I know where we are just as well, he's just showing off. Prig. Just because he beheaded the Orc-Chieften is no reason for him to turn into Mr. Self-Satisfied.  
  
It was dark, and the twin sons of Elrond were coming back early from a successful raid against the orcs. Elladan patted his horse gently. The good beast was exhausted, and deserved a hot bran mash as soon as possible.  
  
Finally, their path leveled out and then headed through the forest surrounding the small city. Elves called out to them as they went by, and he and his brother waved and smiled in response. Crossing the thin bridge the water gurgled a welcome as well.  
  
Elrond, once again showing how well he knew when people were arriving in his dwelling, was waiting for them. After all the greetings were made, and the two tired horses were led off, Elladan and his brother were about to follow their father inside when a voice rose up from the side courtyard.  
  
2 What hope that is given  
  
Is hope well received  
  
I hope you are hopeful  
  
On this starlit eave  
  
Let your hearts rest in peace  
  
Let wind in your hair  
  
And you faces remember  
  
What is moonlit air!  
  
Let stars be above you  
  
And grass be beneath you  
  
Till moonlight is westward  
  
And sunlight is east  
  
Elladan looked up to see the singer walking slowly towards the other end of the House. Then, when he tried to take a step towards her and hail her, he tripped on his feet—literally—and fell flat on his face.  
  
Elrohir was no help—he was howling with laughter, tears on his face. Elrond gave him a sympathetic glance and gave his brother a look. Elladan stood, beat red up to the points of his ears. He hadn't fallen so badly since he'd been in diapers.  
  
Elrohir had managed to contain his amusement to a stifled chuckle. The girl paused, looked over and smiled shyly and disappeared inside.  
  
"Who was that?" Elladan asked to cover his embarrassment.  
  
"Her name is Lilly. She's one of our new minstrels."  
  
"Lilly?" Elrohir repeated, all mirth gone. "You mean to tell me she's human?" Elrond nodded, then glanced warningly at them. Elladan was silent, but true to his nature Elrohir pressed their father. "But she doesn't look human!"  
  
"My son," Elrond replied quietly, leading them inside, "walls have ears. And so does she. Keep your tongue close to your mouth, for now. She knows nothing about her nature."  
  
Elrohir flushed, and silently Elladan applauded their father. Either his thoughts weren't shielded properly, or he was more flustered than he had realized. Elrond raised his eyes and looked straight into his son's. Why, thank you, Elladan-my-son, came the thought, to Elladan's eyes the thought sky-blue tinted with pink undercurrent—which meant affection mixed with exasperation. Elladan thought back, a little sheepishly, You're welcome, father-of-mine. 


	4. Chapter Four: Friends and Enemies

DISCLAIMER: This must get hard for those writers who have a lot of chapters. (Like me). anyway, again, I only own Lilly/Ellorme, Lindan, Asfaol, and Elanna, the rest all belongs to the late J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
"Who were the two elves who came here today?" Lilly asked Lindan over her juice cup. The two of them usually ate their dinner meals together now—it was a wonderful time to talk and exchange experiences.  
  
"What, the two that look like mirror-imagines of one another?"  
  
"Uh, huh."  
  
"Those were Elrond's sons—Elladan and Elrohir."  
  
"Bloody hard to tell them apart."  
  
"I'll say." Lindar took a delicate sip of his wine and sighed with contentment. "I daresay, I'd come here for the wine, if not for the job."  
  
Lilly ignored this. "But why haven't I seen them before?"  
  
"Out on a mission," replied the elf, deep in his wineglass. "Mmm. Vintage of '30. Excellent year."  
  
Lilly reached out and grasp his wrist gently. "Lindan, this is not time to instruct me on the wine you are drinking," she said firmly. "I'd like to know about the history of Rivendell. Like I asked you a few minutes ago."  
  
"Ah, rightly you rebuke me!" he replied in a sagely tone, pulling his hand back until her hand rested lightly in his. "Well, dearling, it all goes back many centuries ago…"  
  
His palm was firmly callused from long years as both archer, swordsmen and, she learned in surprise, minstrel. When the long story of Rivendell was told, it was an hour past midnight and Lilly was becoming tired.  
  
Lindan noticed this and stood to go. "Lindan, before you leave, I have a boon to ask of you."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Would you sing that song you were singing the night you found me tomorrow? With my accompaniment?"  
  
"Of course," Lindan answered gravely. "I'd be honored to."  
  
She blushed. "Honestly, Lindan…"  
  
"It's true," the elf insisted. "You're talented and beautiful…"  
  
"Now you're being flattering."  
  
"I'm being blunt," he retorted. "And you've been blessed with a gift for music. Rarely are even the elves blessed with such a wonderful gift. Now, sleep well, dearling."  
  
He kissed her brow and was gone before she could recover from her shock. As she undressed, a thought formed in her head. She quickly shooed it away.  
  
What a silly thought, she said to herself. Go to sleep, and stop worrying about such things!  
  
* * * *  
  
Lindan didn't realize how utterly ruthless Lindir could be until he mentioned how well Lilly was doing. Lindir had merely sighed, and said he was dying to get her to sing in the Hall of Fire. When Lindan mentioned he was going to be singing with her that eve, Lindir practically kidnapped him before making him promise to sing with her in front of the other minstrels.  
  
"You have a bet, don't you?" Lindan demanded after agreeing a bit reluctantly.  
  
"I wouldn't know," the minstrel replied lightly. Lindan rolled his eyes, and went to tell Lilly.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I'll kill him," Lilly growled, peeking into the Hall of Fire. All heads turned and she jerked back. "Lindir is one dead elf."  
  
"Aye," Lindan replied grimly, also glancing into the Hall. "The little trickster invited all of Rivendell, not just the minstrels!"  
  
"I hit, you hold?" she offered.  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Let's move."  
  
The two walked in as unobtrusively as possible, and settled down to wait their turn. When Elrond beckoned to them, they moved to the center of the room. Lilly strummed a chord for silence, and then the two began in a beautiful duet.  
  
As she sang, she saw eyes widen and murmurs settle around the room. She was well known to be human—yet their duet sounded closer to two elves singing. One of the twins, either Elladan or Elrohir, she still couldn't tell them apart, leaned forward and watched her intently.  
  
When they finished, there was a loud cheer that went up among the minstrels. Several were swatting Lindir affectionately over the head. Lindir sprang up, as she was about to disappear and swept her off her feet, hugging tight enough to make her squeak.  
  
"I knew you could do it!" he said when her feet were back on the floor again. "I knew it!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," one of the minstrels said sardonically. "Absolute luck, Lindir. She's a natural. You're a bloody annoyance."  
  
As Lindir turned back to defend his reputation, she and Lindar made a hasty exit to her room. When they got there, and the door was thoroughly closed, the two of them cracked up.  
  
Wiping tears from her face, Lilly croaked, "I haven't any idea why that was so funny, but gods it was!"  
  
Chuckling, Lindan poured himself some wine and offered Lilly a glass of some exotic fruit juice called orange. "To all minstrels and their absolutely hysterical arguments!" Their glasses clanked and they drank to a new life  
  
* * * *  
  
*She stood on the edge of a cliff. Below her, she could see the clouds, and far, far below that, she could see a speck of green—the ground. Gulping, she turned around and found there was two ways off the cliff—over it, or back onto the landmass. On the landmass stood her human "father," the monster who had raised her when her parents had been killed, sword drawn.  
  
"Come on, my dear," he coaxed, creeping forward. "Come back to me, my little elf-girl."  
  
"Lilly!"  
  
She turned and looked down again. Far below her on the green earth was Lindan, his expression frightened, holding out his arms to catch her. "Jump, Lilly! Jump! LILLY! HE'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU! JUMP!"*  
  
* * * *  
  
Elanna stopped on the edge of the Hall of Fire. Her keen senses told her someone with an odd mixture of human and elven sent, whom smelt of fear and weariness, and who to her moderate Healer-senses seemed weakened by lack of sleep was inside. There was only one person who had that odd tangle of human/elven sent. It had to be Lilly.  
  
She made sure the door creaked a little when she opened it—no need to startle Lilly. Lilly looked up from where she was perched on the floor and tried to stand. Elanna waved her down. "No need to rise, youngling. What ails you?"  
  
Startled, Lilly looked at Elanna closely. "How'd you know?"  
  
"You're never up this early, you look exhausted, and to my healer-trained ears and eyes and nose you even feel exhausted. I'm not just a groom, you know—I used to be Elrond's assistant."  
  
She slumped with weariness and didn't reply. Though by nature Elanna's healing skills weren't as strong as Elrond's—she had not been born with a lot of innate healing magic—she knew something was harming Lilly other than lack of sleep. It was as though something inside of her was struggling frantically to get out. Elanna schooled her features blank, but inside she was concerned. Lilly's odd smell, combined with her looking steadily more elven by the day had her thoroughly puzzled.  
  
"I haven't slept well," Lilly said at last. Elanna came and perched down near her, watching her with those dark eyes so much like Elrond's. "I…haven't slept in a few days."  
  
Startled, Elanna touched her lightly with healer-sense. She wasn't sick; but as though in response to her healer-touch, the thing that was trying to get out rebound and struggled harder.  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
"I've been having nightmares."  
  
Elanna smiled. "I may not be the healer Lord Elrond is, but I can make you sleep so that you don't dream. Would you like that?"  
  
"Could you?" Lilly looked so hopeful she felt as though she'd be struck with an arrow through the heart. "Lindan's beginning to worry, and he'll drag me to Elrond. I really don't want to talk about it to them, though."  
  
Elanna waited for her to say more; when she didn't she threw another piece of wood on the fire and dusted his hands off.  
  
"Never let anyone that you don't trust do this," she warned. "This is the kind of spell that can actually separate your soul from your body—a very effective way of killing you in your sleep, so to speak." Lilly nodded. Elanna pressed the forefingers of her hands to Lilly's temples and willed her to sleep. Lilly sighed, and slumped gracelessly into her arms. She lifted Lilly gently—Lilly was really asleep, and like people who were asleep, she could be woken—and carried her to her room where she covered her and left her.  
  
Elanna thought she saw Elrond watching her from the hallway when she emerged—but before she could be sure the vision was gone. She went back to her room, absently nibbled a piece of bread, and fell into a sleep-trance of her own.  
  
* * * *  
  
A warm hand took hers and stroked her palm with its thumb. Groggily Lilly opened her eyes and found Lindan looking at her with that expression that meant trouble was coming.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you were having nightmares and couldn't sleep?" he asked simply.  
  
"Because they involve you, and I was too shy," she answered, surprising herself with her bluntness.  
  
"Oh, dearling." He took her other hand into his and sighed, watching her sadly. "Do you even now not trust me?"  
  
"Of course I trust you! I—" The words died on her lips. Why hadn't she told him? He would have understood. He wasn't going to mock her, wasn't going to scorn her, or send her away. Why hadn't she told him? And now she'd hurt him—she could see it in his eyes.  
  
"I was afraid," she whispered, and closed her eyes to the hurt in his face.  
  
"Of me?" His tone was too soft.  
  
"Of—of trusting anyone." To her shame, tears started to trickle down her cheeks. "I—I—" She broke off with a sudden sob. Startling him, she sat up and threw her arms around his neck and cried. He released her hands and drew her close, rocking her silently while she cried.  
  
He took out a handkerchief and wiped his own eyes before offering it to her. She blew her nose and leaned against him, trying to rein in her tears.  
  
"This isn't about me not telling you, is it?" she asked, trying to keep from bursting into tears again.  
  
"No, my dear one, it's not." He went on rocking her, caressing her thick ebony curls. "It has nothing to do with your nightmares." He took a breath and gently tilted her head up with his fingers. "Sweet one, it has to do with me being your father."  
  
* * * *  
  
Elrond found Lindan outside, near the stables. Elrond looked at Lindan gravely. He did not appear at all well—his face was pale and gaunt, his hair lank and as unhappy-looking as his expression. Without speaking Elrond drew Lindan onto the stone bench that sat on the side of the road.  
  
"What is it, my friend?" he asked simply.  
  
"She'll never become elven now," Lindan replied flatly, as though he was keeping his emotions under control through sheer determination. "The tide, the magic—now that I've told her, it will never break."  
  
"You cannot be sure."  
  
Agitated, Lindan ran a hand through his hair. "Elrond, you've felt what was struggling to get out of her—her elven nature, her elveness. Now can you feel it? Can you?" No response. "Nor can I." He slumped down. "She won't even look at me, Elrond. And how could she? She was obviously abused and beaten by her so-called 'parents'—why should she forgive me for leaving her with those monsters? And how can I ever forgive myself? I wish I could kill them, those monsters!" He started to weep suddenly. Elrond put a hand on his shoulder. Being a father himself, Elrond knew both the joys and sorrows of having children. But even the greatest wisdom and the wisest people cannot always soften the blow of that which they know is the truth.  
  
"You cannot know that," Elrond told him softly. "Even the wisest cannot see all ends. She's frightened, Lindan, as all are of the unknown. To her, this is a dream come true—yet humans have a saying that fits this situation. 'Be careful what you wish for—you just might get it'. She doesn't know what to think, but she loves you, Lindan—unconsciously she recognized you for what you are—her father. I wouldn't be surprised if she was coming after you right now."  
  
The sounds of footsteps made them both look up. Lindan wiped his face and schooled his features to that blank look that Elrond thought he wore much too often. Not even elves should keep all emotions bottled up inside.  
  
A pale but composed Lilly stood a few feet away. "Daddy?" she said softly.  
  
Elrond discreetly disappeared, as elves can when they need to. That's not to say they vanish—they simply move out of site and hearing with a smoothness that rarely can be seen. Lilly ran to Lindan and he caught her, holding her close.  
  
"I'm so sorry I didn't come for you," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I never told you."  
  
"It's okay," she replied, just as softly, relaxing against him. "It's okay."  
  
"Come to me, my little elf!" someone screamed suddenly.  
  
Before either could react, Lilly felt Lindan stiffen and cry out, lurching forward. She screamed and pulled away. A red stain spread out over his back; the hilt of a knife lodged deep between his shoulder blades.  
  
She didn't think, didn't consider, didn't do anything but react. Something inside of her, the thing that had been struggling and struggling to get out, broke. Moving faster than any human ever could, she drew the dagger she wore on her belt and hurtled it back. 


	5. Chapter Five: Father and Daugther

DISCLAIMER: I'm using the copy function, if you're wondering. Ok, I own. Lilly/Ellorme, Lindan, Asfaol, and Elanna, the rest all belongs to the late J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
Elrond and Elladan and half of Rivendell's residences burst through the foliage or poured out of the stables the instant the screaming began. There stood Lilly, yanking out the knife in her father's back. There lay the man who had raised her, the one who almost ran her down, Lilly's knife buried in his throat.  
  
Elrond sprinted to Lindan's side and pushed Lilly out of the way. He didn't have to look at her features to know what had happened. Elladan came to stand behind her, watching closely to what his father did.  
  
Under his swift care and will the bleeding stopped and the worst of the internal damage was healed. Lindan moaned softly, and Lilly stifled a sob. Elanna lay a hand on her shoulder.  
  
It was Elrond who ordered the shocked elves into action; Elrond, who got Lindan inside and warm, his back dressed and stitched. Elrond who sent Elanna to tend to Lilly, who was positively hysterical, thrashing when the elves tried to hold her back from Lindan's side.  
  
She broke free, and Elanna accompanied her to Lindan's bedside. Her father was pale and still, white against the bleached sheets behind him.  
  
Lilly cried in Elanna's arms, and Elanna cried, too. She was an old friend of Lindan's, and if he died would mourn him as deeply as his newly found daughter.  
  
A gentle touch disturbed her weeping. Lilly looked up into Elrond's kind eyes, and sniffed softly. "Childling, he will not die. In fact, he will be awake any moment, from the look of it. And speaking of looks," he added, turning her and Elanna so that she looked into the mirror that was placed in Lindan's rooms.  
  
She stared. Elanna stared. If Lindan had been awake, he would have stared, too. No longer did the gawky, gaunt little child look back at her. In her place was a tall and beautiful, if half-grown, young elf-woman with long black hair and white complexion, her eyes dark and thoughtful, if shiny with unshod tears.  
  
"Then I'm—?" she whispered, stunned.  
  
"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Ellómë," said Elrond.  
  
"You knew," Elanna said wonderingly. "All along, I thought you didn't notice. You knew she was his daughter. You were kidnapped from us, years ago," she said to a stunned Lilly. "Your real name is Ellómë—that is, star of dusk, because you had a darker complexion when you were young. Your mother, bless her, was so grief-ridden she left Middle-Earth after you were taken. We tried to find you, youngling," she added softly. "Truly we did."  
  
"I believe you," Lilly whispered. "I believe you."  
  
Lindan stirred and moaned. "Lilly? Lilly?" he cried as he opened his eyes. She went to his side and perched on the edge of the bed, holding his hand.  
  
"Yes, daddy?" she said softly, voice choked with emotion.  
  
He looked into her eyes, saw her elven nature staring back out and choked. "I thought your elven-fëa* would never emerge," he sobbed. "I thought you'd stay human forever, and I'd loose you, like I lost you before."  
  
"Never, Daddy," she answered, embracing him and blinking back more tears. "Never."  
  
* * * *  
  
Elrohir rubbed his side and glared up at the smug expression on Lilly's face. "Ellómë, you little stinker, if you drop me one more time I'll dump you in a horse trough."  
  
She grinned. "Ah, what are you worried about? You're made out of rubber—the only thing I hurt was your ego."  
  
Lindan chuckled, watching the two fight a mock-battle, teaching Lilly—or Ellómë as the elves called her—swordsman ship she'd long since forgotten when her body had sent her into a state of hibernation—effectively turning her human, which was not what her kidnappers had wanted.  
  
Finally the two called a truce. While Elrohir went to jog off any stiffness, Lilly walked over to her father and kissed his cheek before vaulting over the fence lightly and matching his step as they headed back towards the House.  
  
"How go things?" she asked him casually.  
  
"Lindir is furious at loosing any of your precious time, and is making Elrond positively miserable because of it," Lindan replied, chuckling softly. His back had healed quickly and without scar, as such wounds on elves often did. "I daresay, one of them is going to throw the other out the window—Elrond, or Lindir. Lindir sulked so badly he actually tripped and went head-over-heals into the manure pile.  
  
"Are you serious?" she demanded, trying not to sound delighted. Lindir usually got what he deserved. Out of all the minstrels, none of them had found a better teacher for Lilly's voice—or a more egostatiscal one. Elanna was worse—going around bragging that she had changed Lilly's diapers. More than one playful scruffle had emerged from that. Lindan merely smiled secretively.  
  
"I hope I live up to your expectations as a father," Lindan said suddenly. "I haven't had much practice."  
  
She touched his arm. "I wouldn't wish for any other," she replied sincerely. He put an arm around her shoulder, and so it was the two walked back to Rivendell, and home.  
  
  
  
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*  
  
* fea = spirit 


	6. Chapter Six: Gilron

DISCLAIMER: Again, I own no one but Ellorme, Lindan, Gilron, Elanna, Asfaol, Felor, Melor, and Delor, and Finn.  
  
*Forty years later…*  
  
  
  
Ellorme forcefully ignored the glances of the three new elves from Lothlorien, their knowing eyes and half-mocking smiles at her obvious discomfort of playing by herself in front of them. Her own lips she kept tightly pressed into a thin, dangerous smile. Her eyes she looked onto her task of playing her harp. Her toes she kept crossed against any promise Elrond might force her to make. Her anger she swallowed, but her sadness remained: where was her father? Elladan and Elrohir had already returned, and they had gone farther than Lindan. Why was he not here, her only kindred, muttering things about the newcomers that would make her laugh instead of rein in her scowls? And most of all—was he safe?  
  
Her father had a dangerous job; she knew this only too well. He was Elrond's ears and eyes, going deep into the forest of Mirkwood and keeping on speaking terms with the elves of Mirkwood and Lothlorien—even going so far as Gondor or Erebor. Never had he been caught—Elrond had always said, quite seriously, that either her father had an unusual amount of luck, or Elbereth herself was watching over him. Privately she thought the latter—publicly she said the former.  
  
Lindan had been sent to Mirkwood to deal with something to do with the Elf-King—something about trade, Ellorme had heard. But that had been almost eight months ago and Elrond was beginning to look concerned. Whenever she asked him if there was anything she could do, Elrond would always smile and shake his head, gently herding her out of his rooms, as though he didn't want to talk about it. This made her all the more suspicious.  
  
The sound of a horse's whinny startled her, though her fingers continued to play. She cocked her head, and the whinny came again. If a horse could sound hysterical, she decided, then that would be the way it would sound.  
  
Then something snapped into place; Asfaol. The whinny was Asfaol's. That was her father's horse, the witty creature who loved to dump her in the mud as much as he loved to carry her. Her father had threatened to clip Asfaol's tail if he ever did that to him in public, so he had very little problems with the horse. Ellorme had been considering threatening something similar when Asfaol returned…  
  
But if Asfaol returned, then her father must be there, as well! Gasping out apologies, she sprinted from the room so fast Elrond couldn't even open his mouth before she was gone. Lindir gave her a disapproving glance as she ran by and began to sing a ballad to keep the Lothlorien elves' minds off her hasty departure.  
  
She bound down the front steps to the opening courtyard and stopped, a welcome frozen on her lips. Asfaol stood there, heaving, his leathers soaked with sweat, head almost touching the stone. His legs were braced and he trembled violently, as though he might collapse at any moment. Two elven grooms were trying to get him to walk to the stables; Asfaol kept throwing up his head in protest. When he saw her he stopped fighting and whickered, taking a shaky step towards her.  
  
"Ye gods, Asfaol!" she cried, and ran the last few steps between her and the beloved horse, taking his face in her hands. He blew snot all over her shirt in welcome. "Elbereth, what happened to you?"  
  
"Look at this," one of the grooms said, running a gentle hand along Asfaol's flank, where there were deep gouges in his hide. It was Elanna, her old friend. "These are orc-scratches. And here—the emblem of the Forest King's grooms on his tack." Elanna looked up, her face full of fear. "Either Lindan was ambushed on the way here, back from the King's halls, or on his way to Dol Guldur, after meeting with the King."  
  
Her head snapped up. "My father was to go to Dol Guldur?" Ellorme all but shouted. "AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?"  
  
From Elanna's wince, she was not supposed to have said that.  
  
"You—you—" she stared at Elanna for a moment, then pressed her face against Asfaol's damp neck.  
  
"Come, Asfaol," Elanna said, her face expressionless. "You need rest." The horse allowed himself to be coaxed away. Ellorme studied the dying sun until she had her emotions under control, then turned.  
  
Elrond stood two steps up from her on the stone staircase, hands clasped under the flowing sleeves of his robes, reminding her of a human priest.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Ellorme heard herself ask calmly. "Why didn't you tell me where he was going?"  
  
"You would never have forgiven me," Elrond answered softly, and his face mirrored her own pain. She couldn't stand it; she turned away, back towards the bubbling stream and the narrow bridge beyond. Her legs broke into a run and she sprinted out of the courtyard before her tears could swallow her. Over the bridge, across the forest path, through the trees, down along the side of the canyon, towards the southern end of the vale. Wind whipped her hair; tears that were not wholly from the icy wind sparkled in her eyes. Tears were slowly replaced by anger—not at Elrond, but at the world, the cruelty and bitterness of the world.  
  
"I will find you, father," she whispered, leaning against the tree. "I must."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Master Elrond, be reasonable!" Haldir said desperately. "She could be the greatest elven assassin since her mother!"  
  
"Is that what you want me to turn her into?" Elrond thundered. "A heartless killer?"  
  
"Was her mother heartless?"  
  
"Too close," Elrond replied flatly. "Too close for comfort. All she cared for was her daughter and her husband—nothing else. Not the land, not her people, nothing. I'm only glad she left when she did, so as not to be poisoned by you further!"  
  
This he addressed to the strange, silent elf who sat next to Haldir, that slight smirk on his face playing on Elrond's battered nerves.  
  
"Come, now, Master Elrond," he purred. "Isn't that a little harsh?"  
  
"I think not, Gilron."  
  
Gilron gave another of those infuriating smiles. Elrond could only be glad that his sons were not doing this—they'd either be dead, or have this infuriating elf in a headlock by now.  
  
"She will need special training if she wishes to rescue her father," Gilron added.  
  
"Do not pratter to me about rescue!" Elrond replied in a dangerous tone of voice. Haldir went still, watching the battle with uncertain eyes. "You know he cannot be reached short of a miracle. Do not use Ellorme's hopes to get her where you want her. How could you use someone like that?'  
  
"It's my job," Gilron replied flatly.  
  
"I will not hear of it!" Elrond snapped, bringing his fist down on the table. "I have watched that family go threw hell and I will not put Ellorme through it as well!"  
  
"Elrond, you have no choice. I will get her to agree with me, and overlord or not you will not be able to stop me—or her." Gilron stood and pressed his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. "I will get her, Elrond. I always get what I want."  
  
Elrond stood as well. "Not. This. Time." The look he gave Gilron was of thinly veiled disgust. "Lindir, show these men to their quarters, please." The minstrel, who had been sitting in the background watching all of this silently, stood and motioned for Haldir and Gilron to follow him.  
  
"Gilron," Elrond said as he turned away, "you shall not have her."  
  
"As you say, Master Elrond," the slender elf replied coolly. "As you say."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Mae govannen, Ellorme."  
  
Ellorme jerked around, dagger in hand. She'd not realized she'd fallen asleep; by habit, she carried at least one weapon with her at all times. A slender elf stood before her, and one glance at him was all it took before she realized this was no ordinary elf. He walked like Elrond, when Elrond chose to be commanding—a skilled warrior in the prime of his strength, without fault or weakness that his underlings had the wits to see. Some elves had lorded over this power—thank the stars, Elrond was not one of them. The only time she could ever remember him doing that was when Elladan had thrown Arwen in the river and she'd gone over a waterfall. She'd come out dazed, cold, and utterly enraged, but other than that completely unharmed. Elladan had tried to point this out—weakly, under his father's stony expression—but to no avail. It was the only time Ellorme had ever heard Elrond raise his voice.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked bitterly in response, and turned her back on the elf. She couldn't even hear him breathe as he sidled up next to her and sat down on the small stone bench. She could not say she was entirely comfortable having him so near her.  
  
"My name is Gilron," the elf replied slowly. "I come here from Lothlorien, the home of my fathers."  
  
"Get to the point." Ellorme was in no mood to here a reciting of heritage.  
  
He smiled thinly. "Ah, blunt and forward—and such a worthy student." He reached out a hand to touch her and she flinched away. "Good reflexives I see. Hair, long enough to braid out of the way." His eyes traveled boldly down her body and she felt herself flush. "Good figure, slender, well- built, powerful, beautiful." He raised his eyes back up to hers, and she tried to break away from his gaze; he only intensified his expression, keeping her frozen in place. "I could use an apprentice like you." He reached out a hand, and she was powerless to stop him. He slid his fingers over her cheek and across her slightly parted lips. "Such a perfect student," he murmured, and slid his hand to the back of her neck. Her skin crawled with the touch of him, and if she could have trembled she would have. "Think on it," he said lazily, releasing her from both his touch and his gaze. "I could give you the power to get your father back."  
  
She tried to work her mouth, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her voice to work. The elf glided into the shadows and vanished. As soon as he was gone, she staggered to her feet and bolted towards Rivendel—to safety—to—  
  
She ran headfirst into Elrond, causing him to jerk back in surprise. She staggered slightly, then caught his bemused gaze and grasped her throat, trying to speak. Elrond looked at her quickly; she was not choking, because she was breathing, but she could not speak. Odd. He realized she was mouthing a name at him. Gilron. He nodded, reached forward and drew her a little closer. He put one hand behind her neck and one on her brow; regardless of the fact that Gilron had done almost the exact same thing, she felt no fear or disgust, just the sort of odd cool/warmth sensation that came from being around healers. As her throat was released from lock she jerked strangely and almost fell against him. Shock. He helped her sit down; she branched herself against the wall, knees drawn up to her chin, trembling slightly.  
  
Elrond sensed through his Healer's Senses a certain wrongness about her—as though she'd been touched by a bit of a cold, or had an infection. Her hands were clammy when he touched them, and her face was alternately flushing and paling. He watched her with concern. Her eyes grew dizzy, then focused again; dizzy then focused, as though she was drifting in and out of a fever. She began to shiver, body racking violently. Deeply concerned now, Elrond pulled her up and slung her arm around his shoulders, taking her through the shortest rout possibly back to her room.  
  
Luckily the fire was going when he reached it—he eased her into bed, then banked the fire and closed the windows to cracks. Then he went back to her bedside and he held her hand soothingly. She was caught in the throes of something he sensed was more psychological than physical, but that didn't make it any less dangerous.  
  
Finally, Elrond decided he was doing her no good just sitting there with her. He touched her mind lightly and put her deep into sleep, a sort of half-trance that was light enough so as to hold no harm to her, but deep enough to give her dreamless sleep until he choose to wake her or her body was rested.  
  
"Sleep well, Ellorme," he whispered.  
  
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*  
  
My first reviewer told me the story would be easier to read if I cut it up into chapters (thank you for the hint, by the way), so if you're wondering why it went from two chapters to about twelve or so, this is why. 


	7. Chapter Seven: Leave-Taking

DISCLAIMER: hmm…if you've gotten this far you know I only own Ellorme, Lindan, Elanna, Asfaol, and Gilron.  
  
Elrond looked up at the soft knock on his door. His fingers were stained with black ink and his eyes were tired from working in the dim light. He was about ready for a break, anyway. He winced as several vertebrae popped back into place and stood up to greet whoever the knocker was.  
  
"Come," he said shortly.  
  
The door opened and his expression of calm turned into a concerned smile as Ellorme came in, looking severely shaken. Her face had an odd, tense look that was magnified by the candlelight, and her long ebony hair was unbound, falling to her waist, instead of braided back like she usually kept it.  
  
"Mae govannen, Ellorme," Elrond greeted her, motioning for her to take a seat.  
  
"Greetings, Master Elrond," she responded softly as she sat across from him on a cushioned chair. Elrond watched her unobtrusively as he poured two glasses of wine from a crystal flask. Ever since her strange seizer she had holed up in her room and refused to come out, either to eat or to talk. She appeared terribly pale—and even though the race of Elves she was descended from normally were slender and had pale skin, she was unnaturally and unhealthily ashen and gaunt.  
  
Elrond offered her one of the glasses. She took it, her hands steady, but she shivered in the dampness of the room. Elrond used a dab of magic to make the fire burn hotter and then settled down in the semi-darkness to watch and wait for her to speak.  
  
Ellorme couldn't bring herself to drink the wine. She stared down into the red depths as though searching for the answer to some unspoken question. When she looked up, her eyes were oddly bright, as though her eyes were filled with tears she dare not spill.  
  
"Master Elrond," she began, then stopped and resumed staring at the wine. He saw her throat work but no sound emerged. This wasn't like the paralysis that he had cured three days before, though—this was fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what might happen. Fear that she was already too late.  
  
"I'm going to go after my father," she said in a low voice after many moments of silence, but for the singing in the distance. "I'm going to Dol Guldur."  
  
Elrond felt his own face drain of color, and he carefully set down his glass before speaking. "Are you sure that's wise?" he asked gently.  
  
"Don't patronize me, Elrond!" she snapped, surging suddenly to her feet. "I—I—" She stopped, then sunk back down to the chair. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely. "I'm sorry, Elrond. I'm…sorry…so sorry..."  
  
The agony in her voice was like a knife through his heart. Elrond carefully kept his Empathy under strict control; to keep from broadcasting his own uncertainties, and nodded, waiting for her to go on.  
  
"Please—" her voice was stronger now. "Don't make me leave him there, Lord Elrond." Elrond twitched with surprise. Never before had she called him "lord." "Sir, please—don't."  
  
He reached out and covered her hand with his. "I'll help you in any way that I can, Ellorme," he said calmly.  
  
"Do you—do you believe he's still alive?"  
  
Elrond squeezed her hand firmly until he felt her return the squeeze. "I believe in you, daughter of Lindan," he answered steadily. "There is no one I'd trust to this other than you."  
  
A loud knock interrupted them. Ellorme jerked like a startled colt, pulled her hand free and backed into his study, blending with the darkness until even Elrond could no longer see her. Obviously she had no wish to speak with other elves right now. This concerned him deeply, as one of the ways an elf healed from both physical and emotional wounds was through being around people and places that were familiar to her. That Ellorme was denying herself any interaction with the other elves would not only slow her recovery, but weaken her as well. The magic that flowed through her veins—her life force, as healers called it—was part of the land, and part of the other elves. If she cut herself off from that, she cut herself off from her own strength and powers, and from her ability to recover from traumatic mental and physical injuries.  
  
"Come," Elrond called wearily.  
  
He flinched inwardly as Gilron entered. "Ah, Master Elrond," the elf said in his silky smooth voice. "So good to see you…"  
  
They were interrupted by the sound of crystal shattering as Ellorme accidentally dropped her goblet.  
  
"Greetings, Ellorme. Taking your dear master up on his offer of a warm bed so soon?" Gilron asked easily without batting an eye.  
  
Before Elrond could react, he heard a hiss of anger. An instant later, an expression of shock crossed the elf's haughty features as a throwing knife tore through the air and pinned the collar of his shirt to the door behind him, going in up to the hilt.  
  
Ellorme appeared in the dim light, a second knife held expertly in her right hand, anger winning the battle over fear and disgust. "The next time I hear of such a thing," she said in a deadly soft voice. "I will take part of your flesh with that throw. Is that understood?"  
  
Gilron said nothing, merely leered at her. Elrond's hair stood up on the back of his neck. Gilron was acting less and less like an elf and more like…  
  
A human.  
  
A second knife whizzed through the air, and a startled yelp tore from Gilron's lips. A smaller knife, one meant to fit into a child's boot was embedded in his earlobe.  
  
"Ellorme!" Gilron howled. "Elrond! I demand you release me!"  
  
"We're not holding you, Gilron," Elrond replied easily. "I suggest you take yourself out."  
  
Before either could speak, Ellorme twirled her fingers in an odd gesture and both knives came flying back; one was red with blood, the other unscathed. Gilron reached up a hand to his bleeding earlobe and regarded the two with an unreadable expression.  
  
"Do I need to teach you another lesson, Gilron?" Ellorme asked, her voice so quiet that Elrond had to strain to hear her. "Say—a knife through your knee?"  
  
Gilron slowly backed out, his eyes flickering from Elrond to Ellorme and back, as though he didn't trust them not to put a knife in his back. Then he was gone out the door with a whispered curse.  
  
Ellorme wiped off her knife on her sleeve, and slipped the throwing knives back into their slots on her wrist and—to Elrond's surprise and mild delight—in her hair. A perfect place to hide something.  
  
"You leave in the morning," Elrond told her as she straightened from adjusting her boot. "Go now and rest, or sing, or let yourself wander under the stars. That was a brave thing you did, so reward yourself."  
  
She was still pale, and if she'd been human, Elrond would have thought that she was suffering from the Black Breath—in her case, he suspected it was the effect of being around an elf who was completely unelven. An anti-elf, if you please. Such effects were quite common, though those who caused the reactions were not.  
  
She'll have to fight him before this is all over, the treacherous little voice that was his conscious whispered.  
  
"I should pack then," Ellorme replied in a steady voice as she bowed to him. "Master Elrond."  
  
"No, Ellorme." Elrond lay a hand on her shoulder when she stood up. "Healer's orders. I want you to go spend some time with the other elves—its part of your natural healing," he added to stop any protest. "If you don't you'll find yourself too weak to go."  
  
She sighed, but nodded, and in fact she looked relieved. She slipped from his room with her naturally graceful movements restored. Elrond waited until the stir of air her passage caused had faded back to normal, then mind-called to his sons.  
  
Ellorme is leaving, he said shortly. I want her outfitted properly. By tomorrow. She's going to Dol Guldur.  
  
* * * *  
  
Ellorme's head was still reeling amazement at all the trouble the Elves of Rivendell had gone to for her. Elrond had given her his sword; the ver one he had used to fight with in the battle of the Last Alliance. Elladan had given her a recurved bow for hunting and a longbow for battle, with matching quivers. Elrohir had given her an emergency medical case, with thread, needles, gauze, bandages, antidotes, disinfectants, and healing herbs. Elanna had given her an elven-cloak, waterproof, with a hood to match, and a warsteed that was the equal of anything Elrond had ever ridden. Lindir, through his tears had presented her with an enchanted flute that when played could be used as a call for help, a warning, or even for more specific messages.  
  
"Come home," Elrond said quietly, for her ears alone. "Come triumph. Come safe." Then louder, "May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky."  
  
Blinking back tears, all she could manage was a soft "thank you." All of the Elves of Rivendell had turned out to wish her blessings and good byes. Very few of them ever expected to see her again, and they were respectively silent as she trotted across the bridge and up through the vale towards the main road.  
  
As she reached the top, Ellorme paused as her keen ears caught the sound of music and singing; a mournful, melancholy tune that did little to lighten her heart.  
  
Wanderer, wanderer, love, where did you go?  
  
Did your path take you through fen or then under snow?  
  
Did the stars bless your feet and burn brightly above?  
  
We bless your and sped you with all of our love  
  
Wanderer, wanderer, must your feet tread  
  
These paths that are perilous, these paths full of dread?  
  
Where no stars can shine and no moonlight can pierce  
  
Where enemies stalk you and the darkness is fierce  
  
Our hearts will go with you, but our bodies remain  
  
And we physically feel both your loss and your pain  
  
But what dogs your footsteps, what keeps you away  
  
From the cool stars of nighttime and the bliss of the day?  
  
May your paths always go the way that you need  
  
May the stars always guide you, may your skin never bleed  
  
May your feet take you swiftly, may your road always stay set  
  
Until our next meeting, go well and well met  
  
What terries your journey? What keeps you away?  
  
From the flowers of midnight to the noontime of day?  
  
Is your road straight and true, is your course blessed  
  
Or is it a crooked road and bitter your test?  
  
Wanderer, wanderer, come back to your home  
  
And leave those strange paths for those destined to roam  
  
And when you return may your eyes be alight  
  
May you dance fey and wild beneath the starlight  
  
May your heart always guide you, may your strength always be true  
  
When that cold darkness begins surrounding you  
  
And remember your home, though far off it may be  
  
Remember Rivendell, where you danced wild and free!  
  
Blinking back tears, Ellorme turned away from the entrance to Rivendell and urged her horse southwards, the echoing sounds of elvish voices repeating in her mind.  
  
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*  
  
Mae govannen = well met 


	8. Chapter Eight: All Things Foul and Fair

DISCLAIMER: Only Ellorme and Lonel are mine.  
  
Ellorme opened her eyes slowly and painfully, trying to move and finding herself immobilized. This couldn't have happened; she'd been perfectly fine when she'd finished her dinner of rabbit; she'd only thought to rest her mind a moment. Yet here she was, in pitch-blackness, from the heavy feeling on her wrists and ankles chained, and her warsteed no where in hearing range. She twisted and fought, but no light penetrated wherever she lay, and the chains held true even against elven-strength. She fought until she was bathed in sweat but to no avail. Finally she stopped and lay as still as possible, listening for any sign of life.  
  
When she heard nothing she began checking herself for wounds and found that she was relatively unharmed but for a few bruises here and there, and her head, which throbbed painfully. She stretched cautiously, wincing as the chains clanked loudly in the dark, and tested each muscle for a pull. She rolled her neck from side to side, warming her muscles for the fight that was to come.  
  
After what seemed like forever, the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn came to her ears, followed by the sounds of guttural voices that could only mean one thing—goblins. Grimacing, she formed her face into a featureless mask. Let them try and see if she was awake or not.  
  
Torchlight flickered ruddily on the stone walls, and Ellorme could see that she was lying in some sort of torture chamber. How the goblins had caught her, and her poor warsteed, who was probably now dead, though, she had no idea. Then something came in—something she felt more than she saw. A Barrow-Wright.  
  
As the goblins gleefully set about heating metal rods and warming up torture-machines, the Wright came close to her—warily, for it knew that a conscious elf tied or no, was a foe to be reckoned with. She hissed at it, and the Wright stood uncertain, swaying back and forth. It wanted—needed—to leech the abundant life force held within her. For the reason that Elves are immortal by human standards is because that unlike humans, if they loose life force they can re-grow it, in a sense. This was why Wrights dearly loved to drain them—because draining an elf, unless you do it to the last iota, cannot kill them, as it kills mortals.  
  
Ellorme hissed again then gasped in surprise when hot iron was pressed against her barefoot. She quickly snapped herself into a heavy trance; one that Elrond had taught herself to go into safely, that would shield her conscious mind from the pain signals her body was sending her.  
  
Even though the trance, though, she could feel her body go cold, then numb, as the Wright drained her, and soon only knew pain as the compulsions of her body pushed through her trance. Before long all she was aware of was trying not to scream.  
  
Not long after that all she could do was scream.  
  
* * * *  
  
Semi-conscious, Ellorme realized that neither the Wright was in the room with her, nor were the goblins playing with her anymore. She tried to move, but after the first scream that her nerves sent her brain, she decided that breathing was movement enough. She couldn't see out of one eye, and her head hurt horribly. Her mouth was dry as parchment and if there was a place on her slender body that didn't hurt she couldn't find it.  
  
Slowly she became aware of other things; the room was not dark. In fact, there were several torches held up by clips in the walls, and everything in the room that she could see without moving her head spoke of a hasty departure. Tables were turned over, hot metal rods cooled on the floor; bloody straps lay strewn across the floor. Slowly, though, the internal injuries she had sustained became too much; she knew she was bleeding badly internally, knew she was bleeding externally, knew that there was nothing she could do about either, chained with both arms stretched brutally above her head. Knew that drained as she was by the Wright she didn't have the strength to heal herself. Had she been full Noldor she could have managed it, but being half-Sindarin weakened the skills and innate abilities that the Noldor had honed in Valinor.  
  
She drifted; Elrond had once told her that that was what would happen just before she died, if she was ever in such a situation, of her injuries, as her spirit slowly untangled itself from her body. It was a drifting sensation, not an unpleasant feeling, merely an alien one. Peace settled on her as she slowly pulled herself away from her body. Ellorme hung on the very knife-edge of death. Suddenly, though, she vaguely heard sounds that were faintly familiar. Swiftly her spirit absorbed back into her dying body one last time. Her ears, physical and telepathic strained to hear. Then—there it was. The shrieks of dying goblins, the war cries of victories elves, and the sound of song coming from elven lips.  
  
She pursed her lips and tried to whistle, tried to make any sound at all, but found that her voice box was shattered. Unable to speak, she reached out and searched for a mind to touch; but the elves, in the heat of battle had completely shut out all telepathic communication. They could not hear her. Desperately, feeling the last of her strength drain from her limbs, and her breath becoming harder to draw, she pursed her lips—painfully, because of the burns on her face—and blew.  
  
The sound that immerged was loud and clear, and she heard several elves shout in surprise; they had thought that they'd finished off all of the goblins and were searching for any left. She heard the sounds of air movement, sensed them coming closer.  
  
And with a sigh she died, and her spirit faded back into the milky- white of death.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Ai! Ai!" came the call back to the other elves. "An elf! They have captured an elf!"  
  
The messenger's words brought a fury of activity. A female healer with a concerned expression on her face elbowed her kin out of the way in her rush to see if the elf was still alive or not. She arrived by the side of the poor creature, a young elf-girl not yet a century old. Her brother, the leader of the group of elves had not even heard the message before she had sliced through the crude metal chains with her sword and was lying the child in a more natural position on the rack.  
  
She pressed her fingers to the girl's neck and wrist, searching for a heartbeat; she found none, nor was the girl breathing. But when she lay her hand on the child's brow, it was still warm. She had only just died.  
  
The Healer keened softly, and all the elves, both those surrounding her and those further back took up the call into the caves of the goblins. An elf-child was dead; it was one of the greatest tragedies to strike at the elves, for they had few children and each one was very dear to them.  
  
"We must bury her," said the Healer to her brother as he came forward. "So young, to be caught."  
  
"She was well-armed," said one of the other elves. "Look at this—poisoned weapons, every one of them crafted to perfection. And her sword—come and see!"  
  
The leader stepped forward and examined the sword. "This is Lord Elrond's sword!" he cried. "I was under his command in the battle of the Last Alliance—I remember him wielding this mighty weapon! But how did one of our children get it?"  
  
"A quest?" the Healer suggested sadly as she covered the girl-child with a cloak. "She must have been journeying across the mountains when she was waylaid. Look—and they had a Wright! It must have drained her as they tortured her, feeding off her misery and pain."  
  
The leader turned away, overcome by emotion, resisting a blood-lust that was burning in the back of his mind and causing his hand to convulse over his sword hilt.  
  
"Come," said the Healer, "who will help me carry her?"  
  
Her brother came over, as well as two other elves, and they slid the slim body onto a second cloak and carried her out of the passages. The elves that watched were silent, mourning in their hearts the loss of one so young. As the dying sun struck its red glare across the cloak hiding the girl's body, the Healer heard a faint gasp. Dropping her end of the cloak in surprise the child's head emerged, and parts of her upper torso. The girl was breathing, her eyes flickering as she tried to open them.  
  
"She's alive!" cried the Healer.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Where am I?" Ellorme called into the milky mist. This was not how she had thought of death. "Hello? Anyone here?" Ellorme was becoming annoyed. Weren't the Valar supposed to send a message to her, inviting her back to the Halls of Mandos? "IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?"  
  
"Ellorme? Is that you?"  
  
"Who's there?" she shouted in response.  
  
The figure that immerged caused her breath to freeze in her chest and her heart skip a beat. "Forget," said the figure gently, "forget, and return to your shattered body, to be healed and restored. And forget, until our next meeting in our true forms."  
  
Ellorme lost her balance and fell forward into the pale arms of the figure and the pain returned.  
  
"Child?" The voice was distant and faint. "Youngling? Can you hear me?" Ellorme tried to respond, but her will had left her, and her spirit hovered anxiously on the edge of joining with her body. Something pushed her gently, and reluctantly she joined with her body again. She became more aware of her pain as she settled back into her physical form, more aware of the call…  
  
"Lasto beth nin, tolo dan na ngalad." She looked up and found herself seeing the elves in their true form; their bodies were their clothes, but through them shone the brightness of their spirits, and Ellorme's soul found sanctuary once again on the physical plane of existence.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Lonel, I cannot except the fact that she has just reawaken!" snapped the leader to his sister. "She was dead! We all felt it! I know you're hiding something—what happened to her?"  
  
"It's not my place to tell," Lonel replied shortly as she tied back her long ebony hair. "She was sent back; that's all I can say."  
  
"By who? For what purpose?"  
  
"Do I look like Elbereth?" she snapped in response. "How should I know? All I know is that her body was healed enough for her spirit to return, so return it did."  
  
"You're hiding something. What is it?"  
  
"You're just going to have to get used to being in the dark."  
  
Muttering under his breath, the elf returned to the group of elves surrounding the bonfire as his sister Lonel walked to the side of the elf- girl.  
  
"Child?" The girl blinked and looked up at her. "Can you hear me?" Shyly she nodded, her wide dark eyes belying an innocence of one who had not long lived in the world. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Better," she replied, and it was the truth. Her body, though still smarting, was rapidly healing, and as Elrond had said being around other elves naturally speeded the process of healing; it was the unconscious act of the elves to share life force with those who were wounded. Only Elven- Healers, though, could consciously direct that force into people besides elves, and only Elven-Healers who could consciously heal without loosing any of their own strength.  
  
"Who are you?" Lonel's brother asked bluntly from behind. "Why are you here?"  
  
"It's a long story," she replied softly. 


	9. Chapter Nine: New Companions

DISCLAIMER: Only Delor, Felor, Melor and Ellorme are mine.  
  
"I told you we shouldn't have come this way!"  
  
"Well, its too late now, isn't it?"  
  
"You never listen to me!"  
  
"I do too! But you have the brains of a rock so I rarely take what I listen to seriously."  
  
"Stop it, you two, we're getting nowhere."  
  
"Shut up back there!"  
  
"See, now we won't get any dinner."  
  
"That's not my fault!"  
  
"It is too!"  
  
"One more word and you get the honor of mining coal for the rest of your lives."  
  
"But—"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"But—"  
  
"All of a lifetime!"  
  
"One more word from any of your and we'll be using your beards for your gags!"  
  
"Not the beard!"  
  
"Shh!"  
  
"I didn't say anything!"  
  
"Did too!"  
  
"Gag them," the leader of the brigands said bitterly. "Gag them before I kill them!" His men hastened to comply.  
  
"Mumblemumph."  
  
"Mumbleumble umpth!"  
  
"Gumumunch!"  
  
"QUIET!" the brigand's leader screamed at the three captive dwarves, who fell moodily silent.  
  
"Excuse me," said a soft voice. Twenty armed brigands swung around to find themselves facing off a slender, beautiful woman who looked about sixteen. She had dark gray eyes and pale skin, with ebony hair flowing down her back. She smiled uncertainly at the dwarves, who simply glowered; they reconized her for what she was.  
  
"Why, lookie here!" leered the leader of the brigands. "We got ourselves a pretty little high-born! Are you lost missy? Can we help you find something?"  
  
The louts laughed as they closed in on the slender figure, who was armed only with a sword and long knife. "Give up little missy," crowed one of the other brigands. "We won't hurt ya!"  
  
"Touch me and you'll loose that hand," she answered calmly. He grinned, and lunged for her, then recoiled with a scream, holding his wrist as it poured blood. The brigands stared dumbly at their companion for a moment, then they noticed the severed, bloody hand on the ground in front of him, and then turned to stare at the slender woman in the center of the circle they'd made. They hadn't even seen her sword move.  
  
"GET HER!" shrieked the leader, and all of them pounced.  
  
Twenty-to-one odds, Ellorme though ironically as she waited for them to get closer. I should be used to this by now!  
  
Two well-aimed kicks took out two of the innermost men and a vicious swipe of Elrond's sword decapitated two in a row. She ran one through the heart, blinded another, gutted a third and kicked a fourth in the groin in the time it took for the leader to blink.  
  
"Ood am," one of the dwarves commented.  
  
A swift feint to the left and she had one through the ribs; she finished off the one who's hand she'd severed.  
  
"Nine down, elven to go!" she shouted aloud. One got his jaw broken, a second was knifed through the neck with her throwing knife; two went down with poisoned knives in their legs or shoulders, and a fifth got a knife through one eye.  
  
"Fourteen down, six to go!"  
  
She killed the one she had blinded, and the two who'd been taken out by her kicks. The leader tried to run; he got a knife in the spine. Two men seized crossbows; she flung a long knife at one and it took him through the heart and the blade stuck out of his back as he fell. The last managed to get a bolt off at her. As the dwarves watched, impressed in spite of themselves, she ducked under it with furious speed and one of the brigands got it in the face. She flung a knife at the crossbow man and he went down. The last man tried to run and got a knife through the neck.  
  
She looked around at the dead and dying, and finished off those that were badly wounded but not dead out of mercies sake.  
  
"Good job!" called one of the dwarves. "I'm impressed, elf-girl!"  
  
She jumped and turned to stare at him. "Where'd your gag go?" she asked curiously as she came forward.  
  
"I ate it," the dwarf replied simply.  
  
"Aha," she said delicately. Three blindingly fast strikes reduced their bindings to shreds.  
  
"Thank yee, miss," said the dwarf as he shook off the rope. "My name is Delor. This is Melor and Felor, my cousins."  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Ellorme said shyly. "My name is Ellorme."  
  
"If you don't mind me asking," said Felor. "What is an elf like yourself doing out in country like this?"  
  
"That," she repleid slowly as she wrenched a poisoned knife from one man's eye and wiped the blood off on a rag, "is a very long story. Shall we hunt first and then talk over dinner?"  
  
"Sounds good to me," said Felor and Melor at the same time.  
  
* * * *  
  
"But why did Lord Elrond allow you to attempt the rescue?" asked Gildor, the leader of the elves. "Surely it would be better to send someone more experience?"  
  
"What good is experience in a place like Dol Guldur?" Lonel returned dryly. "No one has ever lived to tell how to get inside."  
  
"I can give you little guidance, childling," Gildor said softly, ignoring his sister's sarcasim, and his eyes gentled when he looked upon the slender girl before him. "But I can give you a warning. Stay away from the elf Gilron—he is a murderer."  
  
For a long moment Ellorme could only stare at him. "What?"  
  
"He murdered two human children three weeks ago. We are going after him, to bring him to justice, but we fear he may be going after you. We have heard that he wished you for his protégé, and he is not one to lightly ignore the potential to become an elven assassin. Beware, and watch the shadow that moves when you do not!"  
  
Ellorme shivered. "I must go."  
  
"Here are some rations, and your waterbottle. I'm afraid that you will have to do without your steed, but your legs should not tire. Good luck, youngling!"  
  
"I thank you, Gildor, and you Lonel."  
  
"Namarie."  
  
* * * *  
  
"And then I traveled a few days south of here, and picked up the signs of brigands with prisoners. I went to investigate, since it was on my way down, and you know the rest."  
  
"I thank ye again, lady," Delor said gruffly. "You took time out of searching for ya pa to help us, and I appreciate it."  
  
"If rock brain here hadn't left the map at home, we wouldn't be needing the help of any elf," Melor growled.  
  
"If chicken-head here hadn't taken a wrong turn at Bree, we never would have run into the brigands!"  
  
"If you had remembered to being the gods cursed map—"  
  
"It wasn't my idea to head north through Mirkwood!"  
  
"Was too."  
  
"Was not."  
  
"Was too."  
  
"Was not."  
  
"Was too!"  
  
"Was not!"  
  
Ellorme cleared her throat softly; the three dwarves ignored her. She cleared her throat louder, and still they didn't hear. Finally, she screamed, "Will you please be quiet?" and they fell silent. Grudgingly.  
  
"Where will you be headed now?" she asked politely.  
  
"Dale," Delor grunted. "Our kinsmen." He didn't sound too happy.  
  
"Would you mind traveling with me for a ways?" Ellorme asked. "I think we could learn much from one another."  
  
Felor leaped to his feet. "Oh no you don't!" he shouted. "You think you're going to charm us into belaying all our secrets, you got a disappointment coming, elf-witch! We ain't gonna tell you nothing, so just go run back to your forest holes and stay there, you dishonorable coward!" He spat in her face.  
  
Ellorme jumped backwards like a startled deer, her eyes wide with shock. Her hair came free of its braid and fell to her waste, encircling her like a cloud. The three dwarves glowered darkly at her, even Delor.  
  
"We have no business together," Delor said coldly. "I thanked you for saving us. Now be on your way."  
  
Ellorme stared at him for a moment, and then profound sadness replaced the shock on her face. "I am sorry, Delor," she said quietly. "I am so sorry that you're people were blamed for what you never did."  
  
"Heh!" Delor called after her as she turned away. "Just what you be meaning by that?"  
  
She turned around again, the very picture of an elf: tall, slender, beautiful, sad, ethereal, radiant and kind. "Your race of dwarves had nothing to do with the sack of Doriath. You tried to help the elves. It was wrong of us to blame you, and for that I apologize. I only wish…" she stopped and shook her head, before shouldering her pack and moving onto the path.  
  
"Only wish what?" Melor called after her.  
  
She stopped, but did not turn around. "I only wish we could reconcile our differences," she answered very, very quietly. And with that, she was gone, a whisper of a breeze in the forest, with nothing to mark her passage but the sudden tightness in the chest's of the three dwarves.  
  
"Hey, wait up a moment!" Ellorme turned around, puzzlement masking her features.  
  
Delor, Melor, and Felor puffed up, bent nearly double under the weight of their supplies. "Yur a good elf, for an elf," Delor observed absently as he kicked Felor for kicking Melor. "We're thinking we might travel with you?"  
  
"Even though I'm an elf?" Ellorme asked ironically.  
  
"I think we can put up with you," Melor replied.  
  
"I'll do my best to make that difficult for you," she said solemnly.  
  
Delor chuckled suddenly, and slapped her on the back—really the small of her back, he couldn't reach much higher—so hard she staggered. "Yur a good elf, for an elf," he repeated, and started off along the path, trudging along as he sang a song. Ellorme, knowing the tune, quickly joined in.  
  
"By high, by low, into the world we go," Ellorme sang in her sweet voice. "We march and sing, our bells do ring, high low, high-high, high low, high low!"  
  
"Not bad, elf," Delor said.  
  
"For an elf," they finished together, and grinned. 


	10. Chapter Ten: Finn

DISCLAIMER: only Delor, Melor, and Felor (if you've read THE HOBBIT you know why I made their names rhyme) and Ellorme and Finn are mine.  
  
"Shit," said Delor.  
  
"I am unfamiliar with that term," said Ellorme.  
  
"Shit," the dwarf repeated.  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Shit," Delor said again.  
  
"It's a cuss word," Melor explained, as if to a very small child.  
  
"I got that part," she retorted.  
  
"Think of horse plop and you're pretty close."  
  
"Got it."  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Horse plop."  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Horse plop."  
  
"Shit!"  
  
"Horse plop!"  
  
"Delor," Melor said, and cuffed his cousin under the chin. The dwarf didn't notice.  
  
"Shit," he said, again, calmly.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Horse plop."  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Horse plop."  
  
Delor punched at Ellorme, who swerved backwards and mussed his hair. He grumbled loudly and tugged his locks straight. Ellorme hid a smile. If only her kindred knew how vain dwarves were, Delor would never be able to live it down!  
  
"So, what's wrong?"  
  
"That, my little elf-lass—" he ducked absently under a vicious kick from Ellorme "—is what's wrong."  
  
"Oh, shit," said Ellorme.  
  
* * * *  
  
The mob of angry villagers looked like something out of a fairytale ("Don't you dare mention fairytales," Ellorme snarled. "Elves are not fairies, how many times do I have to tell you that?!") and they looked grim. In the midst of them they dragged a small blond boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, who was shorter than Ellorme by a head. The dwarves and elf watched from the cover of follage as the villagers dragged him towards a stake driven into the ground. There were chains on the stake, and bales of hay and wood at the base.  
  
"Not looking good for the blond boy," Melor commented callously.  
  
"Shut up, Melor," Ellorme said calmly. She'd learned that elvish subtleties tended to fall short on a dwarf. Better to be straightforward.  
  
As they tied him to the post and one man stepped forward with a whip, Ellorme shook her head. "I can't," she said sadly. "I can't watch him be whipped and burnt to death. Sorry, boys, but I'm going to help him."  
  
"Elves," growled Felor. "Bunch'a ethical idiots. Always gotta stick their nose into what's not their business."  
  
"Dwarves," Ellorme shot back. "Bunch'a rock heads with the sensitivities of granite and the same amount of intelligence!"  
  
"Round one, ding," said Melor as the man drew back his whip and lashed it out at the boy's bare back. Ellorme cringed as he screamed in pain.  
  
"Do I look regal enough?" she asked a bit anxiously, waiting for the right moment to shock the villagers.  
  
"Not without your hairnet," Felor muttered.  
  
"I heard that dwarf."  
  
"Elf."  
  
"Baby."  
  
"Snob."  
  
Ellorme straightened. "And forward she goes!" she cried.  
  
"Looking like an idiot," Melor muttered. She kicked him as she went buy.  
  
"Halt!" she cried to the villagers.  
  
"Oh, gods, look at her. She looks like something out of a fairytale."  
  
Ellorme heard and broke the mood by swinging around and screaming, "I do not come out of a fairytale!"  
  
The villagers stared at her for a moment as she turned back to them. "I demand you let this boy go!" she shouted.  
  
"Amateur," Delor muttered.  
  
The villagers looked at one another, then back at her. "Changling!" they screamed, and charged her with pitchforks, salt, and St. John's Wort.  
  
"Shit," Delor said mildly as Ellorme stared in shock at the approaching mob. "Uh, hello, Ellorme, anybody home? We might want to get a move on while we're still in one piece!"  
  
"Untie the boy," she ordered, backing away nervously. "I'll lead them away."  
  
"Sure you will," Felor muttered. "Leaving all the hard work for us—umpth!" Ellorme knocked him over as she sprinted past, staying just in site of the angry crowd. The dwarves waited impatiently as the hollering people went by, then trotted over the boy, who was limp against his bonds, his back covered with old scars.  
  
"Hand me my axe, my good cousin," Delor said gravely and sagely to Felor.  
  
"Get it yourself."  
  
"Ditto," said Melor.  
  
"Uncouth barbarians," Delor muttered darkly.  
  
"And proud of it," Ellorme said, popping up so suddenly that all three dwarves jumped a foot.  
  
"What in bloody stinking Hell do you think you're doing?" Delor shouted. "You wanna give me a heart attack?"  
  
"What gave you that idea?" she asked, and grinned ferally.  
  
"We've created a monster," Felor muttered.  
  
"To join your ranks," she replied, and dodged a punch.  
  
With Ellorme's help, the dwarves got the boy off the whipping/burning post and Ellorme shouldered him as the dwarves took some of her packs. Just as they were getting ready to dash for cover, the angry mob suddenly appeared.  
  
"Shit," said Ellorme.  
  
"Run," commented Melor.  
  
"Now," advised Delor.  
  
"CHARGE!" screamed Felor, and ran towards the humans, swiping his axe back and forth. Faced by something that fought back, the people scattered, screaming. A changling they knew how to deal with. A pissed-off dwarf they didn't.  
  
"I knew keeping a hot-headed buffoon around would come in someday."  
  
"It's called thank you, Ellorme."  
  
"Your welcome, glad to have been of service."  
  
"You're an idiot."  
  
"Thank you. From you, that's a compliment."  
  
"Cut it out you two," Delor ordered. Delor had "adopted" Ellorme, and was "protecting her from the cruelty of dwarven society" as long as possible. Which meant he was just as smart-mouthed as the rest of them. "Let's get the lad to safetly. Ellorme, you make the poultice, while the men and I will go out and hunt for tonight's meat."  
  
Ellorme snorted loudly. "Hardly. You hunt as well as you do ballet. What do you think I am, some sort of 'honey do the dishes I'll be home late' sort of gal? Horse plop. You can make the poultice yurself, mister. Oh no. I'm talking like a dwarf. Gods forbid."  
  
"Get out and hunt, then," snarled Melor.  
  
"Make me, oh lovely representation of the cruelties of dwarven society," she retorted, but she took up her bow and quiver and left anyway.  
  
Felor muttered a very un-dwarvish curse-word. "No cursing in elvish," Melor ordered. "Remember what she did to me when I cursed?"  
  
All three dwarves shuddered to remember. Ellorme had tied Melor upside down to a tree branch, gagged and bound the other two, and tickled Melor until he couldn't breathe.  
  
"Cruel," Melor muttered. "Pure cruelty."  
  
* * * *  
  
The boy opened his eyes slowly to find himself looking up at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulder, her face was proud and lovely, her eyes keen, her leaf-like ears accenting her angular features. She was slender and strong, with a bow strapped to her back. He looked at her wearily as she tended a cut on his brow, smoothing on a poultice with a gentle hand. His back was sore, but not stinging, and he could lie comfortably on it. He supposed she'd already tended it.  
  
"I thought you weren't a 'honey do the dishes I'll be back late' kinda lass," said a rough, gravelly voice from somewhere off to his far right.  
  
"I'm not," she answered clearly, in a voice as clear and ringing and wondrous as a bell. "But dwarven healing consists of biting off the offending body-part and replacing it with a piece of your oh-melt-me-please iron."  
  
"Bite me," muttered the voice.  
  
"What's your name?" the beautiful woman asked him. He stared up at her for a moment, uncomprehending.  
  
"F—f—f—"  
  
"Spit it out, kid."  
  
"Shut up, Felor."  
  
"Finn," the boy stammered.  
  
"Finn," the woman repeated with a slight smile, and on her lips it sounded smooth as butter and soothing as camomile tea. "My name is Ellorme. Over there is Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest is on the far right."  
  
"Pay no mind to her, young man," said Dumb. "She's just mad because she lost at chess to me while you were asleep."  
  
"That's because you cheat, dwarf."  
  
"Elf."  
  
"Jerk."  
  
"Snob."  
  
"You called me that before."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So, so what?"  
  
"So, so, so what?"  
  
"So, so, so, so what, so there!"  
  
"So, so, so, so, so what, so, so there!"  
  
"So, so, so, so, so, so what, so, so, so there!"  
  
"Hair-eater."  
  
"Hair-foot."  
  
"Helmet-head."  
  
"Hairless moron."  
  
Ellorme said something in a different language, and Dumb paled. Muttering darkly Dumb retired, sitting with his back to the fire, obviously sulking.  
  
"Look closer, young man!" said Ellorme gleefully. "It's the first and last time that you'll ever see a dwarf sulk—ow goddamit that hurt!"  
  
"And the first time you've ever heard an elf swear," Dumbest added proudly, flexing his toes in his boot.  
  
"Well," Ellorme said, ignoring Dumbest. "Would you mind if we took you along with us?" She looked at Finn. "I don't think you want to go back to the village."  
  
Finn shuddered and shook his head.  
  
"It's decided then!" Ellorme said cheerfully. "Welcome to our humble company."  
  
"Humble? HER? I'm hearing things."  
  
"If you want to eat grass tonight, keep it up, Dumber, just keep it up."  
  
And so the final stage of their quest was before them. 


	11. Chapter Eleven: Mirkwood

DISCLAIMER: I own no one but Lindan, Ellorme, Finn, Delor, Felor, and Melor  
  
Delor peered doubtfully at the edge of Mirkwood. "Tell me that's not our destination."  
  
"It's our destination," Ellorme replied as she finished packing their supplies.  
  
Delor, Melor, and Felor all groaned loudly.  
  
"Will you three shut up?" Ellorme looked over her shoulder and glared. "We're heading for Elf-King's forest kingdom. Shouldn't take too long—a few weeks at most."  
  
"If we die, I will personally make sure you do not go to the happy side of the afterlife," Delor snarled darkly.  
  
"Oh, go whine to a tree, you scardy cat."  
  
Finn, the only human in the small company, smiled distantly. He was a thin, gaunt boy with an unruly toppling of white-blond hair. His eyes, a strange dark-gray in color, were part of what had gotten him in trouble at the village where he had lived—or so he had told Ellorme. That, and his odd ability to predict the future had caused him to be labeled a "witch," and was to be whipped and burned at the stake before Ellorme and the three dwarves intervened.  
  
"Why did we ever agree to help her?" Melor grumbled, stomping his feet alternately to warm them up. Dawn was cold this time of year.  
  
"Because I saved your lives—remember?" Ellorme called as she filled a few waterskins by the creek.  
  
"Damn her elven hearing," Felor muttered.  
  
"I heard that!"  
  
So the four travelers—three dwarves, an elf, and a human, all shouldered their packs of food and water and marched into the forest of Mirkwood an hour after dawn.  
  
It was dreadfully dark under the canopy of trees, and the dwarves were spooking at every noise. Ellorme, however, elven that she was, was perfectly at home with the woods—even such a dangerous wood as Mirkwood.  
  
"Why is it called Mirkwood?" Finn asked, catching up to Ellorme. She slowed her pace so he could keep up easier after noticing him half-jogging to keep up with her long strides.  
  
"Long ago it was called Greenwood," she replied. "But when evil began to spread from the South—well—it was renamed. To Mirkwood."  
  
"And the elves—they still stay here?"  
  
"They are on the other side of the forest, unfortunately—they keep their kingdom free of the evil creatures here. But we are not yet in their realm. This means we must keep a sharp eye out for any giant spiders—I assure you, I in no way wish to become lunch to a thrall of the Dark Lord."  
  
Finn shuddered in response, and dropped back behind the dwarves, who were muttering together nervously.  
  
Dinner was hushed that night and cold that night. Finn slept uneasily, tossing and turning, sometimes waking to pitch-blackness. Not even the dwarves could see anything in the dark, and their eyes were accustomed to the night. Ellorme stood guard always on the edge of camp—with her keen hearing, she hardly need her eyes, and her nose told her when something foul-smelling approached.  
  
The dwarves grumbled loudly all the way through the forest, until they realized it attracted some rather terrifying eyes—eyes that glowed red, or were the eyes of huge, man-sized bugs. Eyes that never came within the light of the campfire they occasionally built; eyes that emitted an eerie light of their own.  
  
Ellorme was either unafraid of the eyes (just another reason why the dwarves thought she was bonkers) or was so intent on finding the Elf-King and getting someone to guide her south that she never noticed how terrified her companions were. Then one day she came up behind Finn once, silently, touched him and was nearly knocked off her feet as he screeched and swung around, dagger in hand.  
  
"Gods, Ellorme, do you have to do that?" he gasped, sinking back down, shivering. Ellorme didn't answer at first; instead looked closer at him; he was soaked with cold sweat.  
  
"If something truly dangerous is near, I will sense it long before I arrives," she told him. "You have nothing to fear."  
  
"Bonkers," Melor muttered into his beard. "Absolutely bonkers…"  
  
It was when they hit the enchanted stream that things became complicated.  
  
"And how," Felor asked with extreme sarcasm, squinting up at Ellorme's face, trying to look fierce even though it was so dark it was all they could do to keep together, "do you intend on getting us over that thing if we can't swim it?"  
  
"Why can't we swim it?" Finn asked wearily, slumping to the ground.  
  
"First of all," Ellorme replied briskly as she tied her hair back, ignoring the dwarf, "you are too tired to swim—you'd be swept away. Second of all, the stream is enchanted—you'd fall asleep if you drank out of it or swam in it, and perhaps would never wake again. Third, I hate swimming. I'm an elf, not an otter."  
  
"Oh, so we have to cater to your needs," Delor snarled.  
  
"If we catered to yours, we'd be feasting on carcasses," Ellorme snapped back, her temper rising. "If you're such a big, brave, terrifying dwarf, figure out a way to get across it yourself!"  
  
And with that, Ellorme, thoroughly put out, sat down with her back against a tree, took out her whetting stone, began sharpening her dagger, and refused to give anyone any advice.  
  
"Just like an elf," Felor said disgustingly. "Blabbering nonsense they call 'wisdom' when you don't need it, and stingy when you do."  
  
A snort was his only answer.  
  
The three dwarves huddled together to try and outdo Ellorme. Finn wandered off near the stream, watching the waters roll by. Ellorme watched him through partially lowered eyelashes—she wouldn't let him fall in, because it he did it would slow them down considerably, since he'd be asleep—and they'd have to carry him.  
  
"So," Delor muttered, eyeing Ellorme over his kinsman's shoulder, "any ideas?"  
  
"Notta one," Melor replied.  
  
"Don't look at me," Felor said quickly when both dwarves turned to him.  
  
"So what do we do?"  
  
"Beg for mercy?" Melor offered. "Only kidding," he added quickly.  
  
Ellorme ran her tongue over her lips and winced as they cracked. She'd been taking less than her share of water, and it was beginning to show. Shrugging to herself, she plucked a slender hair out of her head and ran it lengthwise along the blade of her dagger. She smiled, satisfied, when the hair was neatly slit in two. Then she pulled her hair around her shoulder and began hacking away at her locks with the same knife.  
  
The dwarves stopped muttering and stared at her.  
  
"What are you *doing?*" Melor demanded.  
  
"Cutting my hair," Ellorme answered through gritted teeth, wincing when she nicked her neck with the edge of the blade.  
  
"That's no way to do it!" Delor protested.  
  
Ellorme stopped cutting and scowled at him. "You're right," she replied with deadly calm. "I should cut your beard instead."  
  
The dwarves scattered like fallen leaves.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Well?" Felor that evening over a mouthful of dried meat.  
  
"Well, what?" Ellorme was counting her arrows, lips moving silently as she lightly touched each feathered shaft.  
  
"Well, how are we going to get over that stream?"  
  
"We're not."  
  
All four of her companions stopped and stared at her.  
  
"What?" they cried, pretty much simultaneously.  
  
"You heard what I said."  
  
"But then we've come all this way for nothing?" Finn demanded.  
  
"Not so loud! You think just because there's a stream between us and a clutch of spiders that they won't be able to get at us?"  
  
"Huh?" Delor said intelligently.  
  
Ellorme sighed and put her quiver down. "I was listening last night, on watch, and I could hear the sounds of giant spiders across the stream."  
  
"So, what? We turn around and go back?"  
  
"No," Ellorme replied with great patience. "I'm going to call my kindred."  
  
"What, the squirrels?" Felor snickered.  
  
"Keep it up, Felor, just keep it up." Ellorme stretched, reaching out with her hands as though to touch the treetops. Then, with a brisk "Wait here" she leapt up into the trees above them and disappeared.  
  
Ellorme climbed for some time until she broke through the canopy. For a moment she simply sat in the branches, letting the cool flow of air wash over her, air that was fresher than its dusty brother under the treetops. The trees cradled her in their branches, and she sleepily watched the sky above her, the stars winking in and out. It was only when the dwarves began hissing her name that she remembered her mission.  
  
Cupping her hands around her lips she imitated the call of the nightingale. It was one of the few good animals still remaining in Mirkwood—and it was fast migrating to Lorien in the south.  
  
But only one small bird, barely able to fly, answered her call. Ellorme caught the poor thing as it collapsed in her hands. On closer examination it appeared on of its wings had been torn by a claw. Ellorme cradled the thing close to keep it warm, and sang her song a few times more. But no more nightingales came.  
  
"So, you're the last?" she asked the little bird. "Poor thing—I'd better clean you up."  
  
She slid, disappointed, down through the branches one-handed. She landed, and was bombarded by questions from the dwarves.  
  
"Oh, leave me alone!" she snapped at them, kneeling down to tend to the bird's wing. "I want to be left alone for a while! I need to think."  
  
The five of them went to bed discouraged that night. Ellorme sat with the bird in her lap, her head bowed with despair. Finn curled up with his back to the fire and slept deeply for the first time in weeks. The dwarves didn't sleep at all, and for all their gruffness they felt pity for the young elf that sat across the fire from them, bent over the small form in her hands, her eyes shining in the flickering light as tears trickled one by one silently down her cheeks. 


	12. Chapter Twelve: The Elf-King

DISCLAIMER # 200,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000…seriously, if you've read this far you've already read about, what, eleven of these? Let's just say the elf, the human, the three dwarves and the new guy, Tulmar, are mine. Everything else is Tolkien's…  
  
  
  
"Finn!"  
  
Finn groaned and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head.  
  
"Finn! Get up!"  
  
"No!" came the muffled response. "I'm not taking your watch-shift again, Felor!"  
  
"Not *that*! Ellorme's found another way across the stream!"  
  
"Then leave me here—I'm going back to sleep."  
  
"Felor—kick him," Ellorme ordered as she judged the distance across the stream.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Finn flung off the blanket and glared at Ellorme's back.  
  
"Melor, I need something heavy and metallic that I can throw across the stream," she was saying to one of the dwarves.  
  
"Try Delor's head," Felor snickered from behind. Delor growled and cuffed him.  
  
"Here, lassie, use my ax."  
  
"Thank you—and don't call me lassie."  
  
"You're welcome, lassie."  
  
"Don't push it, Delor."  
  
Ellorme tied one end of the rope securely around the ax shaft and blade, walked to the edge of the stream, squinted, aimed, and flung it across with all her strength. It landed with a thick THUNK on the other side. She pulled back slowly until it caught and held. Then she tied the other end firmly around a bolder, and with an ease and efficiency that almost scared the dwarves, she began hurtling their supplies across the stream.  
  
"Come on," she said, beckoning to Finn when she was done. "You first, Finn."  
  
"What?" he stammered, stepping back.  
  
"Remember all those stories about elves having superhuman strength?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"They're true."  
  
She carried the younger boy across on her back. The dwarves grumbled loudly but let her carry them across one by one, as she was the only one who could balance on the rickety bridge.  
  
"Hold that rope tighter!" Delor bellowed as they sunk precariously close to the river. Finn and Melor hauled on it, pulling it tighter.  
  
"If you let it slip—!" Ellorme added, panting under Delor's weight.  
  
"You worry too much, my pointy-eared friend," Melor gasped.  
  
"They're LEAF-SHAPED!"  
  
When all of them were safely across, Ellorme took her end of the rope and snapped it sharply with her wrist. Finn's jaw dropped open as the rope easily came free from the sturdy knot Melor had tied around the bolder, flew across the stream, and piled neatly at her feet. Ellorme smiled to herself as she wound it up.  
  
"Uh—Ellorme?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Didn't you put Delor's ax over here?"  
  
"That she did," said a cold voice that was most definitely not Ellorme's.  
  
"Well," Ellorme said mildly after a moment, eyeing the thirty or so arrowheads pointed at their vital organs, "it seems we've finally found the Forest Kingdom."  
  
* * * *  
  
"I still don't see why you came here, though," the leader of the scouts, an elf by the name of Tulmar was saying a few hours later as they trekked through Mirkwood towards the Elf-King's palace.  
  
"To remind us we could be living worse," Felor muttered.  
  
Tulmar shot him a sharp look.  
  
"Shut up," Delor advised the younger dwarf. At Ellorme's raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "Hey, I may not like your kind, but I'm not stupid."  
  
"That's debatable," an elf sneered from behind. Tulmar shot him a warning look as Ellorme physically restrained the dwarf.  
  
"Don't goad him!" she hissed. "They're suspicious enough already!"  
  
"Oh, I'll goad him, all right," he snarled. "Right over a cliff I'll goad him!" Ellorme gave him a look.  
  
Several hours of steady marching left Finn ready to drop and the rest of them at the front door of the Elf-King's palace. Ellorme winced when the great doors opened and slammed behind them after the last elf was through. She hated being underground.  
  
Swiftly, through many twisting corridors they were led. No one else was in sight—but Ellorme could hear the elves in their rooms, or in other corridors, talking quickly and excitedly. Apparently, they were the first visitors in some time to the Elf-King's halls, besides her father.  
  
They were brought before the Elf-King, Thranduil, in a large hall full of elves. Tall and golden-haired*, he sat regally upon his throne, wearing a golden necklace with an emerald pendant, and a gold crown with alternating emeralds and diamonds. His eyes were thoughtful, though his expression said he was someone who could be rash at times, and his lips seemed slow to smile. All in all, Ellorme thought, he didn't look like someone she wanted to get to know too well.  
  
Behind and a little to his left an elf, who looked so close in features to him that he must be close kindred, stood a touch impatiently. He was handsome to Ellorme's eyes, less proud than his father, wearing a bow slung across his back, and his clothes were the same as those of a scouts. Ellorme smiled a bit. So, this was Prince Legolas, whom her father had spoken of a time or two. You know, she mused, on second thought he is kind of cute…  
  
When they came to the dais, Ellorme knelt, and when the dwarves didn't do the same she hissed brutal threats at them until they reluctantly dropped. Finn was half-hiding behind her, staring at his toes—he was rather intimidated by the other elves' stares.  
  
"Ellorme," Thranduil said clearly, "why have you come?"  
  
Ellorme stood and bowed to the Elf-King—not an inch more than protocol demanded.  
  
"My lord, I have come seeking a favor from you," she said in a quiet tone that carried clearly through the room. "A favor that must be paid. The favor is my father's life.  
  
"Long has my father, the Lord Lindan spied upon our mutual Enemy—by his risks and sacrifices, have our homes been kept safe. Now it is our turn to risk for him, to sacrifice for him. The Enemy has captured him and taken him to Dol Guldur." She paused, waiting for the murmurs to die. "I am going after him, but I need someone to guide me south towards the fortress. They need not come all the way—only far enough so that I can make it there on my own without loosing my way. This is all I ask."  
  
She bowed her head and waited. To Finn, and even the dwarves the silence pressed down upon them, like a giant, unseen hand. Ellorme showed none of her agitation, except for the nervous twitching of her fingers.  
  
Then, after an agonizing wait: "No."  
  
Ellorme's head shot up, disbelief written plainly across her features, followed by horror. "My lord, I beseech you! Please—"  
  
But Thranduil interrupted her. "While I do not doubt that your father has been of great service to us, I cannot risk my own forces on a fool's errand. You would never make it into Dol Guldur—and even if you did, you'd never make it out alive!"  
  
Ellorme stood absolutely motionless—not even her breathing gave her away. She stared stonily at the Elf-King, anger and bitterness in her eyes.  
  
"As much as I grieve for you, I suggest you go back to Rivendell and mourn your loss there."  
  
The tension in the room was stifling. Ellorme's gaze was like ice, her face and posture set. The Elf-King met her stare-for-stare, no guilt showing on his face.  
  
"I," Ellorme said coldly, the syllable cracking like a whip in the silence, "am not going back."  
  
"You are a fool!" the Elf-King scolded. "What can you possible do? If Lindan could not escape, what makes you think you could?"  
  
"I," Ellorme began, raising her voice, "am Ellorme Elroaran, daughter of Lindan and Celaren Elroaran, and I DO NOT EXCEPT DEFEAT!"  
  
Finn flinched as her voice roared in the hall. Silence fell again, and the Elf-King rose slowly, descending towards her. Ellorme fairly bristled with rage at being thwarted, her hands clenched at her sides. As he stopped, she said softly, "I have been tortured by orcs and drained by a Wight; I have befriended three dwarves and saved a human from death by fire. I have passed through Mirkwood, and braved the pathways of my own self-doubt, all for the last of my kindred. Will you thwart me or aid me, King of the Elves of Greenwood Hall?"  
  
The use of Mirkwood's old name seem to startle the King for a moment. But then he slowly shook his head, and all the fight ran out of her body.  
  
"I cannot," he told her, firmly and sincerely. "I'm sorry."  
  
The breath caught in Ellorme's throat, and for one moment, Delor thought she would cry. "Then we have no business together," she replied, just as softly.  
  
And with that she spun on her heel and stormed from the room.  
  
* * * *  
  
Legolas came up from behind Ellorme the next morning, who was silently wiping tears from her face as she packed fresh supplies, and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and spun, startled, and backed away.  
  
"I am sorry to bother you," he said quietly. "But perhaps I can be of service?"  
  
"How's that?" she asked, more harshly than she'd meant.  
  
He locked his gaze on her. "I will be your guide."  
  
?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*  
  
*I am just going along with how Tolkien described the Elf-King in THE HOBBIT.  
  
I would like to thank all of my reviewers who have reviewed so far and given me tips on how to get more reviews!! (As I am new with this formatting online thing, I need all the tips I can get.) And though I didn't believe it until I posted my story, reviews DO make you write faster! Thank you and please keep R&R! 


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Six Spiders and a Wiza...

DISCLAIMER: Only Ellorme, FelorDelorMelor and Finn are mine.  
  
"Next time we rescue an elf," Delor said, "we're dumping her in the first creek we get to."  
  
He was bouncing along miserably behind Finn on a "borrowed" horse from the Elf-King's stables, clinging to the boy with a death grip. Legolas rode in front with Felor behind him, and from the grimace on his face he, too, was having trouble breathing. Ellorme was taking up the rear.  
  
"If I'm remembering correctly," Ellorme gasped, struggling to loosen Melor's death grip on her, "*I* was the one who rescued *you.*"  
  
"And it's because of that very faulty memory of yours that we had to come along," Delor grunted. "Make sure you didn't run off the road. Oh, I don't feel good."  
  
Ellorme shook her head with disbelief. "How is it you can march all day and all night with little food and no rest, but you get sick to your stomach on an elf-horse—who, I might add, is only *walking*—and you cling to us like a very insistent and very large burr? The horses will not let you fall."  
  
"Speak for yourself!" Delor moaned. "I need to get off."  
  
"Here," Legolas said quietly, speaking to his horse. The beast turned and circled along side Ellorme's mount. The elf took out a flash from his hip and offered it to the dwarf. When he didn't take it, Ellorme muttered a threat under her breath, snatched the bottle up, turned around, stuck it between his lips and put her face right up into his.  
  
"Drink it," she said in a deadly tone.  
  
"Gulp," he replied.  
  
Legolas urged his horse forward again, and they rode on in silence for sometime.  
  
They stopped for a short lunch, and then continued on south. As they rode, it seemed even to the dwarves that things rapidly seemed to become abnormally quiet. The very whisper of their own breathing seemed horribly loud in the forest, and the further on they went, the darker the forest became until only the elves could tell when it was night or day. The dwarves didn't sleep much, and Finn, when he did sleep, generally woke up screaming from nightmares. The very forest seemed to watch them with hidden eyes, and when they heard something slither in the darkness, it was enough to send poor Finn into terrified paralysis.  
  
"Why didn't we leave him at home?" Delor grumbled after one such incident.  
  
"Hush!" Legolas said sharply, and cocked his head, looking this way and that into the gloom, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you hear that?" he asked Ellorme.  
  
She didn't answer. "Ellorme?" Melor said. "Delor? Felor?"  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"Melor? Felor? Delor?" Finn cried.  
  
Something slammed into him from behind and he knew no more.  
  
* * * *  
  
Delor, predictably, was the first of the dwarves to wake. They were hanging upside down from a tree, tied with some sort of sticky rope. The two elves were already struggling to get free.  
  
" 'If something truly dangerous is near, I will sense it long before it arrives. You have nothing to fear'," Delor mimicked. "Oh, gee, thanks, I can see you sensed it *long* before it arrived!"  
  
"Delor," she said between clenched teeth. "This *really* isn't a good time."  
  
"We're going to die anyway, so what time would suite you?" he snarled back.  
  
"Don't be a pessimist."  
  
"Oh *I'm* being pessimistic when we're hanging upside down in a tree like some sort of mutant bat waiting for some big, bad spiders to come and eat us? I think not."  
  
"Mommy?" Melor said suddenly, and opened his eyes.  
  
Ellorme and Legolas exchanged looks.  
  
* * * *  
  
The elf that was not an elf hid in the shadows and watched the company struggle against the spider rope. "So, my little elf-let," he whispered. "Let's see you escape from this!"  
  
* * * *  
  
"Everyone makes mistakes," Ellorme said.  
  
"Oh, yes?" Delor replied scathingly. "Well, next time you get reincarnated *would you mind not making mortal mistakes?*"  
  
Ellorme shrugged. "This isn't a fairytale, dwarf. Hero's make mistakes. Minstrels just overlook them—I should know. I've lived with minstrels."  
  
"Ellorme," Legolas said suddenly, "can you reach my dagger with your teeth?"  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
"My boot."  
  
Ellorme groaned. "I was afraid you'd say that."  
  
"Come on, let's see a little elven agility here," Felor goaded. "Or are the stories as exaggerated as we always thought they were?"  
  
Ellorme glowered at him, before twisting herself upwards, and Felor was impressed in spite of himself. But no matter how hard she twisted herself, she couldn't reach Legolas' boot.  
  
"We're gonna die!" Melor wailed.  
  
"Shut up," the other two dwarves ordered. "Do you want to bring the spiders down on our heads?"  
  
"Well," Ellorme said, looking sideways at Legolas. "There's always plan B."  
  
"Plan B?" he repeated.  
  
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" she screamed.  
  
* * * *  
  
Gandalf wiped off his sword on a rag and shook his head. Five or six spiders lay dead around him.  
  
"Horrible things," he muttered.  
  
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!"  
  
He looked up and frowned, stuck the rag in his belt, and marched off towards the screaming.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I—got—it!"  
  
The knife blade held tightly between her teeth, Ellorme flipped her head and caught the handle in her mouth. The dwarves whistled appreciatively. Ellorme glared at them, and began meticulously sawing away on the robes binding Legolas. An hour later, when she'd sawed through no more than one cord, she stopped sawing and hung her head for a moment, panting.  
  
"Keep working!" Delor urged. Ellorme shook her head and hung limply, eyes closed.  
  
"O use," she managed to say.  
  
"We can't just give up!" Finn cried. "How could you, Ellorme? You, who came all this way to find your father—how can you let him down? Let US down? Come on, you can do it!"  
  
Ellorme opened her eyes again and smiled at him. Then, Strange it took a human boy a tenth of my age to tell me what I should already know. She winked when he gasped, and continued sawing.  
  
"Need some help?"  
  
Ellorme spat out the knife as she and Legolas exclaimed, "Gandalf!"  
  
"I've never been so glad to see a beard," she said as the wizard expertly sliced the cords on her and Legolas. Both elves rolled before they hit the ground and landed unharmed and unbruised, though a little mussed.  
  
"Your hairnet has come undone," Felor snickered.  
  
"Just for that," Ellorme said as she drew a knife, "I'm going to scare you."  
  
"You couldn't scare me—AHH!" he cried as the knife whizzed past his face like lighting, flicking one single hair from both eyebrows. An instant later, the cords were shredded. Ellorme caught him as he fell.  
  
"Oh, really?" She sent an evil smile in his direction.  
  
The dwarf was too busy lying flat on the ground to notice. "The ground," he groaned. "I love the earth. I love the ground. I hate trees. I never want to climb a tree again. I never want to see a tree again. I—"  
  
Ellorme rolled her eyes, and helped catch Finn as he dropped to the ground. To her delight, Legolas managed to find and catch two out of the three of the horses—they had only been chased off, not eaten—and most of their supplies.  
  
"Thank you, Lady Luck!" Ellorme exclaimed as she pulled out a waterskin and gulped a mouthful before offering it to Legolas. He took it, and as he did so he glanced at her face. She caught a queer look in his eyes, and frowned thoughtfully to herself as she turned away.  
  
"Well," Gandalf began, hands on hips as he surveyed them, "what brings such an unlikely crowd out in the middle of Southern Mirkwood? Prince Legolas, Lady Ellorme—" Ellorme started in surprise, amazed he knew her name "—three dwarves and a human."  
  
"We're going to Dol Guldur," Ellorme said in a low voice.  
  
Gandalf stared at her, horrified. "You can't be serious!" he rumbled. "This is foolery!"  
  
Ellorme growled impatiently under her breath, shoving her hair back from her eyes. "My father was captured by the Enemy—I'm going after him."  
  
Gandalf shook his head. "You'll never make it alive," he insisted.  
  
"It's not impossible!" she snapped, bristling. Gandalf suddenly looked at her, really looked at her, and weighed the determination of her eyes against the loyalty of her friends.  
  
"No," he said slowly. "It's not impossible." He drew himself up and nodded firmly. Then he caught her glance and held it for a breath to long for it to be normal. Then, calmly, "Good luck." And with that, he disappeared back into the forest.  
  
"Wizards," Delor grumbled. "They're as bad as elves. Never tell you anything straight. Always have to riddle!"  
  
"Could be worse," Ellorme commented, sounding rather shaken. "We could be underground."  
  
"You think that's *worse?*"  
  
"No," Ellorme replied, and grinned suddenly, looking very un-elvish. "What's worse is your smell!"  
  
The dwarf punched her as he walked by, and together they hefted their packs, mounted the remaining horses, and trotted off into the dark.  
  
* * * *  
  
And the elf that was not an elf watched them, weighed them against his plans, and followed them into the dusk.  
  
?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*  
  
I got a question from one of my readers asking about the Barrow-Wright, and why I put it in the story. First I need to describe a little story history: Originally, this story was two different stories. Because of this, the styles are different (hence the change in style from chapter eight on) and I never edited it (hence the stupid errors). So when a friend of mine who really loved the stories urged me to post them on FF.N, I did so without thought to the formatting or editing. That leaves little errors and things I had meant to get rid of—such as The Barrow-Wright incident. The Barrow- Wright was basically something to "happen" to Ellorme before she crossed over the Misty Mountains, before I thought of having the dwarves. Also because it gave her the knowledge (when she was rescued) that Gilron was coming after her, which will come in handy in the end of the story. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Dol Guldur

DISCLAIMER: zzzzzzzzzzzzzz, foooooooo, zzzzzzzzzzzzz, fooooooooo, *snort* Huh? *Yawns at Disclaimer* Oh, right. Only Ellorme, Finn and the three dwarves are mine…zzzzzzz…foooooooo….  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first FanFiction fic, and I have no idea how to format it to upload with italics so I don't have to use the *. If someone reads this who does know, please, please tell me in a review or something, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you!  
  
"So," Delor said harshly in Ellorme's ear, making her wince. "Any ideas of how to get in there?"  
  
They were about three miles away from Dol Guldur, but the sensation of icy fingers running down her back, coming from the fortress, could not be ignored, and she knew it was terribly dangerous how close they all were to Dol Guldur. Orcs, and something more than orcs guarded the entrance diligently. It was a huge tower, surrounded by a wall built out of solid granite. The tower was black, black as the night with neither stars nor moon. The stone wall seemed to have been painted the same color—or leeched into that color from the evil emanating from the Tower.  
  
She didn't seem to hear the question. "Dol Guldur," she said in a low voice, "tower of the Enemy of the Free People's of Middle-Earth."  
  
Delor boxed her ears for ignoring him.  
  
Furious, Ellorme spun and kicked hard, hitting him in the gut. He shook his head once, and kicked back. She rolled out of the way and tackled him, but his sheer weight pinned her as he rolled over and sat on her.  
  
"Get off!" she snarled.  
  
"No way in—oomph!"  
  
Legolas picked up the furiously kicking dwarf one-handed by the back of his shirt of mail armor, holding him out at arms' length.  
  
"Thank you," Ellorme said as she stood up and regarded the enraged dwarf. "Dinner," she said calmly, and grinned widely. Delor froze. "Only kidding. Put him down, please, Legolas."  
  
Legolas dropped him unceremoniously. The dwarf landed, bounced, righted himself, growled at the two of them, and stormed off to his kinsmen. Ellorme sighed, and looked over at Legolas. He was watching her; a strand of blond hair came loose from his braid and drifted down over one eye. He brushed it out of the way absently. The two elves stared at one another for a long moment, until Legolas looked down. Ellorme had read much in the thought behind the glance, though. She sighed, and pushed such thoughts out of her mind. Troubled as she was about Legolas, she still had to decide what to do now.  
  
"So," Legolas said quietly, echoing her thoughts, "how are you going to get inside?"  
  
Ellorme turned and gave him a shocked look.  
  
"I didn't think that far," she confessed.  
  
"You'd better start thinking," Felor muttered.  
  
"Get down!" Legolas hissed suddenly, and they all dove for the cover of the bushes. Something flew overhead; something that made Finn's skin crawl, the elves shudder, and the three dwarves curse vividly.  
  
"What was that?" Finn asked when the sensation passed and they managed to get their feet under them again.  
  
"Whatever it was, it was headed towards Dol Guldur." Legolas slowly stood up and looked out over at the fortress.  
  
"And we're actually going *towards* that thing?" Melor moaned. "She's either insane or desperate."  
  
"I'm both," Ellorme replied softly, and to their disquiet they realized she was dead serious.  
  
* * * *  
  
And the elf that was not an elf listened, and he smiled when he saw the way the Elf-Prince looked at her.  
  
"Six little black-birds baked in a pie," he whispered.  
  
* * * *  
  
Ellorme carefully placed her rope, grappling hook, sword, dagger, and her small, powerful hunting bow and quiver on various hooks and belts and lashes on her body. Into her hair, wrist-sheaths, ankle-sheaths and neck- sheath she put in daggers and throwing knives with poisoned tips. She was just securing the last of the quick-release latches when one of the dwarves came up to her, and regarded her over his mustache.  
  
"Armed to the teeth?" Felor asked.  
  
"Yes," she answered warily, eyeing him as she adjusted the buckle securing her wrist sheath.  
  
"Good," the dwarf replied promptly, "you'll need it. I'm coming with you."  
  
Ellorme stopped, stared at him, and then laughed weakly. "Hell you're not!"  
  
"Hell I am. You need someone you can trust—"  
  
"I'd trust my diary to guard my back more than you!"  
  
Felor looked interested. "You have a diary?"  
  
Ellorme groaned. "Felor," she said, struggling to tighten the sheath one more notch; the leather was stiff and she hadn't had time to soften it with some oil, "you can't come. I'm going alone."  
  
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Legolas said unexpectedly, coming over towards her, casually tossing his whetting stone from hand to hand. "You'll never make it out alone."  
  
"But—" she said weakly. "But—"  
  
"No 'buts' about it," Finn said firmly, coming to stand next to Legolas. "I'm coming, too!"  
  
"You—we—we—"  
  
"We're coming," Delor continued, stamping his feet and glaring at her, moodily. "Just to keep you hot-heads out of trouble. Right?" he added back at Melor, who was coming to join them.  
  
"Right," the younger dwarf said resolutely.  
  
"But we—but you—but I—" Ellorme snapped her mouth shut and stared at them. "Thanks guys," she said simply, and turned to check her ankle-sheath.  
  
Only Legolas saw the tears in her eyes.  
  
* * * *  
  
"All right," Ellorme said, looking around. "Is everyone clear on the plan?" Everyone nodded or murmured agreement. "Then we're set."  
  
An hour later they stood about a hundred yards from the huge black gates, watching the orc-guards.  
  
"Delor, Melor, go," Ellorme whispered. They nodded, and then two of them stood up and walked casually over towards the guards.  
  
"Hey," Delor commented while the orcs were still too shocked to move, "do you *smell* something?"  
  
Melor pretended sniff, and frown. "Yeah, I do."  
  
"Huh," said Delor, "seems to be coming from over there." He nodded nonchalantly towards the orcs. "Hey, Stinky, you mind tellin' us what time it is? We seem to have forgotten our water clock, which you could obviously use. The water, that is—you'd probably eat the clock."  
  
The orcs screamed in rage and their counter-parts up on the wall rained down arrows on the dwarves—but Delor and Melor were too quick, and they fled back towards the forest towards a well-prepared path. Along it was set several nasty traps Ellorme and Legolas had whipped up, normally used to take out big, troublesome game—and goblins.  
  
She, Legolas, Finn and Felor all scrambled across the open terrain while no one was watching, and flattened themselves against the wall, breathing hard. Here was the hard part—waiting until the orcs changed guard shifts. After what seemed like eternity, but was probably only half an hour, Ellorme heard the sounds of the guard above her shuffling away, and low, guttural voices speaking. With a swift, practiced gesture she flung the grappling hook up; it caught and held on one of the battlements. She tested it, and nodded, then scrambled up the rope. It had knots in it every few feet to make the climbing easier for Finn, and very quickly they were all up. Ellorme dropped into a crouch and looked about warily. She saw two guards down at the end of the battlement, but then didn't seem to see her. She strung her bow, pulled out an arrow and took the one facing her out with an arrow through the throat. His companion spun, as she suspected he would, and only got an arrow through the eye for his efforts. Legolas helped her quickly hide the bodies, and then they were off, moving silently across the battlements and down the stairs.  
  
The guard at the bottom of one of the guard towers was harder to dislodge. After a few hurried whispers, Ellorme stabbed the back of his neck with a tiny knife soaked in poison. The orc died instantly, and they leaned him up against the wall to make it seem like he was being lazy, or was sleeping. Either way, they wouldn't have much time before he was found out—maybe an hour.  
  
Getting across the courtyard seemed almost impossible until Legolas produced several elven-made cloaks that came from Lothlorien. They slipped them on, and by keeping to the shadows blended into the rock itself.  
  
They had a close call when Finn, who was not used to moving quietly, bumped into a guard. The guard turned and snarled, but Ellorme swiftly grabbed Finn and pushed him against the wall. The cloaks hid them well; the orc muttered and growled, but finally settled down again, and they slipped past him without too much difficulty.  
  
Now, though, they had a problem—they were inside the fortress, but where were the dungeons? Ellorme nearly had a heart attack when a mean- looking orc came up and cuffed her solidly on the side of the head. Stars spun about her eyes, but she managed to keep her balance. The others wisely shrank back, and Legolas loosened his knife from its sheath.  
  
"Stupid Snaga!" the big orc growled. "I told you to go check on the prisoners!"  
  
Ellorme said nothing, but tried to mimic the bow-legged stance of an orc. If she spoke now, her cover would be broken; no elven-voice could ever sound as harsh as an orc's.  
  
He cuffed her again. "Well, get down there!"  
  
Ellorme started off in one direction, but was quickly stopped by the bark of his voice. "Not that way, you idiot! Through that door, down the stairs to the right, show the guards your badge. Stupid! Go *on!*"  
  
Ellorme ran.  
  
Legolas turned and took the orc out with a hearty strike to the back of the head with his knife-hilt. The orc dropped and he quickly dragged him out of sight, before going after Ellorme.  
  
Ellorme ran all-out down the stairs, silent as a stalking cat. She took the steps four or five at a time, never loosing her balance. Her eyes burned like two stars, but her face was contorted with fear.  
  
She stopped only long enough to dispatch the orc-guards at the bottom of the stairs, and ran on down the darkened hallway. She thought she could hear Legolas running lightly down the steps behind her, and Finn yelping whenever he tripped or hit his head. Back and forth her head whipped, searching for the person she had come so far to find…  
  
She stopped at the last cell on her left and softy called her father's name. "Lindan?" Something stirred. "Father?"  
  
Then, a harsh voice, completely different from the voice she remembered, said, "Ellorme?"  
  
Ellorme looked into her father's eyes, and all words she had meant to say died on her lips. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Lindan

DISCLAIMER: Again? Oh, all right (does anybody even read this?). Ellorme, Felor, Delor, Melor, and Finn are mine. All else belongs to the great J.R.R. Tolkien…  
  
  
  
Ellorme stared at her father through the bars until he spoke her name again, this time more uncertainly. Then she lunged forward and thrust her hands through the spaces in the cold iron bars.  
  
"Daddy," she whispered, leaning against the door, holding onto his biceps. "Daddy, daddy, daddy."  
  
"Gods, Ellorme, is that really you?" His hands, torn and bloodied and icy cold reached up to cup her face. "Oh, it *is* you!"  
  
Legolas came up behind them. "I hate to interrupt," he said politely. "But if we're going to get out of here, we'd better hurry."  
  
"Legolas!" Finn hissed from the other end of the hall. "They've found some of the bodies! They're coming!"  
  
"Help me get this door open," Ellorme ordered, and she and Legolas began smashing at the lock.  
  
Finn came running up, shoving them both out of the way, and to Ellorme's surprise pulled out several crudely made lock-picks. He shrugged at her expression. "Had to make a living somehow."  
  
With a dexterous swiftness he dismantled the lock, and they were placed with a second problem; the chains on Lindan's arms and legs.  
  
"Go hold the door," Finn told Legolas, to the elf's surprise. "I'll handle this." He rolled up his sleeve and began picking the locks on Lindan's wrists and ankles. She could hear a battle cry, but dwarven or elven she couldn't tell. One lock opened. A cry of pain. Two locks opened. Someone yelling "Retreat! Retreat!" Third lock opened. Legolas was fighting almost next to the cell door, hammering away grimly at the orcs rushing them. Felor stood stoutly at his side and wielding his ax fiercely, and woe to any orc caught between.  
  
Last lock opened! Ellorme caught her father as he collapsed against her, slung him over her shoulder and stumbled from the cell. Suddenly, a small goblin-imp came running around the corner, stopped dead when it saw them and tried to run. Finn caught it, slammed it into the wall and shoved his face into the terrified goblin's, much to Ellorme's surprise.  
  
"Show us the way out!" he snarled, sounding quite ferocious. The goblin squeaked, turned and ran, with Ellorme, Finn, and finally Legolas and Felor taking up the rear. Arrows bounced off the walls around their heads, and there were several near misses, judging from the various yelps around her. Sweat stung her eyes as she ran, but fear made it run cold down her spine. Through a twisting, curving corridor they fled, taking them ever downwards, running full out, until they reached a slender rope bridge strung over a huge crevasse. The goblin-imp sneered at them, and lashed out at the bridge with his knife until he was taken out by a quick thrust from Legolas's long knife.  
  
"Take him!" Ellorme urged, handing Lindan to Legolas. The elf hesitated, but when she shouted "Go! Lead them, Legolas, or we will all die!" turned to face the approaching orcs, did as he was told. Something in her voice did not bode well, though, and he stopped when he was on the other side of the bridge.  
  
"Ellorme!" he cried, and the raw emotion in his voice froze her heartbeat. Then she took a deep breath, and ran across the slender bridge,turned and stopped in the middle of it.  
  
"Go back!" she cried to the muttering, leering orcs. "Go back to your darkness and follow me no more!"  
  
"Come back," one sneered. "Come back, and we will show you darkness!"  
  
"Go back!" Ellorme cried again, this time her voice tinged with desperation. "GO BACK!"  
  
The orcs laughed at her, stepped onto the bridge, and charged her. Then, tears streaming down her face, Ellorme drew her sword.  
  
"NO!" Finn screamed, and threw himself at her. Felor caught his legs and tripped him.  
  
She sliced the rope-bridge in two, and fell. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen: The Price of Triumph

DISCLAIMER: Do you really want to read this, considering how I ended the last chapter? I didn't think so. Just say, really fast: DelorFelorMelorFinnandEllormearemine.  
  
"No!" Finn screamed. He flung himself towards the crevasse, only to be hauled back by Felor. "No, No, NO! ELLORME! NOOO!"  
  
"Help!" came a weak little voice from over the cliff. Startled, Finn dove towards the edge and peered over. There was Ellorme, tears of pain now in her eyes as she balanced all her weight on her fingernails, clinging to the stone cliff. "Help," she repeated. When she saw them staring at her, unmoving, she was a little more blunt. "Throw me the f***ing rope!"  
  
Finn threw it to her, and braced himself as she scrambled up. "Let's get out of here," she said calmly, as though she hadn't just passed within an inch of death.  
  
"Good idea," Legolas said shakily. Ellorme took two steps after him, paused, swayed, and looked around as though admiring the place.  
  
"I really did it," she said wonderingly, and fainted dead.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Ellorme," said a gentle voice, clearing the fog from her brain. "Ellorme, can you hear me?"  
  
Ellorme groaned and tried to answer, but her mouth felt sticky, tasted bad and refused to work right. "Daddy?" she whispered.  
  
"He's fine," the voice said, calmly. "Can you open your eyes?"  
  
Slowly, Ellorme pried open one eye. "Elrond?" she gasped.  
  
"Yes," Lord Elrond replied with an affectionate smile. "You certainly took your time for coming around. Seems you were short on rest."  
  
Ellorme felt the color beginning to return to her cheeks, and she sat up and began looking around curiously. The room she was in was large but not over furnished, and unusually warm. Large rooms were usually impossible to keep warm. She shook her head slowly. "Where am I?" she wondered aloud, forgetting Elrond was sitting next to her.  
  
"In the Elven-King's Hall." At her shocked glance, Elrond's good- natured smile widened. "Seemed he had a change of heart about your mission, and sent a company of elves after you the day you left, and found your group hobbling back from Dol Guldur, with two of you wounded and unconscious."  
  
"But why are you here?" Ellorme screwed up her face, trying to think. "Wait a minute—was I hurt?"  
  
"You were," Elrond confirmed, to her surprise. "That blow you sustained when you slammed into the wall cracked a few ribs and gave you a concussion—if you'd be human you would have been quite dead. And you didn't see but an arrow that was poison-tipped nicked your shoulder—battle-fury can do that to you; you don't even notice when you're hurt."  
  
"But how did you get here? Why are you here?" Ellorme asked again.  
  
"Gandalf sent me a message, before coming straight here and ordering the Elf-King to send more reinforcements. They were needed, too—the orcs came after you and Lindan, you know."  
  
"They did?" Ellorme shivered, remembering everything far to vivid for her liking, and sunk back down into the warm covers. Then she shot upright and tried to scramble out of bed. "Father! Is he—"  
  
Elrond caught her by the shoulders and firmly pushed her back down. "He's sleeping in the next room—which is what *you* should be doing, too, young lady."  
  
"Not that young," she replied sleepily, eyelids fluttering closed as she began to doze. "Poor Finn—and the dwarves! I wonder whatever happened to Gilron?" And then she was asleep, and Elrond quietly left the room to speak with Gandalf.  
  
* * * *  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
It's been a long, painful recovery for both my father and I. After waking again I found out that Felor was killed in one of the battles after we escaped from Dol Guldur. Finn's been maimed, and even with the skill of Lord Elrond his left leg will be almost completely useless for the rest of his life—he'll be able to walk, maybe, but never run. As I've often said, life is no fairytale; we rescued my father, but at a price. And the price was very high.  
  
Ellorme looked up from her script and walked to the door. Shaking her hair out of her eyes she wandered down the hallway she found Legolas sitting in one of the rooms with his back to her, the door a little ajar. She tapped lightly on the door, and he turned to greet her with a smile, then froze. A hand pushed her roughly into the room, and she spun to see Gilron smiling at her.  
  
"You've passed all my tests, little one," he said, quietly but menacingly.  
  
"You're the one who had my father caught!" Ellorme gasped suddenly, as all the things that hadn't made sense before clicked together, and she reached for her knife.  
  
"Very good," the elf that was not an elf replied coolly. "Now for the last test of all." He smiled widely, took out a throwing knife, balanced the point on his fingertip for a moment, and hurtled it at the Elf-Prince.  
  
Delor sprang from the shadows onto the table in front of Legolas, and took the knife through his heart.  
  
"DELOR!" Ellorme screamed. She wrenched the knife out of his chest, swung around, blind with rage and hurtled it back. Gilron's face was a mask of surprise as he fell, pawing at the blade in his throat. Tears coursing down her cheeks she spun around and fell to her knees beside Delor, taking his head in her hands as Legolas shouted for a healer, and tried to stop the bleeding.  
  
"Good…bye, Ellorme," the dwarf said thickly. "I go to the halls of my fathers."  
  
"Don't leave me, Delor," she whispered. "Don't you dare leave me. I cared for you!"  
  
The dwarf smiled faintly.  
  
"Delor?" There was no response. "DELOR? Oh, Gods, no! Delor…" Ellorme bent over his body and wept.  
  
* * * *  
  
Ellorme shook Melor's hand gravely in the clearing outside the Elven- King's Hall; as the last of his kindred, he would be heading back towards the Blue Mountains, and Finn would be going with him. "I always wanted to be a smith," he'd said wistfully when Melor had offered. "I'd love to come."  
  
"Goodbye," she said quietly to Melor, and hugged Finn, much to his embarrassment.  
  
"Goodbye," Melor replied.  
  
Legolas touched her arm and she turned. "Ellorme…" he began uncertainly.  
  
She smiled at him through her tears. "Try me in a few hundred years, okay?"  
  
He smiled slightly. "Okay."  
  
She turned back to her friends, and waved goodbye as they rode away, guided by two elves.  
  
"I'll miss them," Ellorme said to her father as he came up behind her. Though still gaunt and pale, Lindan had recovered remarkably well, considering what he had gone through. He would have some scars, but would heal completely, eventually. Lindan smiled sadly as she turned. "I know," he said quietly. "I know."  
  
She leaned against him and closed her eyes. "Let's go home, Daddy."  
  
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*  
  
Well, there it is. ( Not bad for the very first fan fiction I actually finished—in fact, I'm rather proud of it. So, if you have any questions/comments, feel free to email me at LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com. I don't mind answering questions about the story, because I know everything isn't perfect, so feel free to email! Thanks to all those who've reviewed, and thanks especially to Ea and Arien and Emli, who encouraged me to post this and actually FINISH the dang thing! Thanks so much, guys!!!!! 


End file.
